Hermaphrodite
by SherlockianQueen
Summary: After finding out about Mary's infertility, Sherlock makes an incredible offer to her and John. Even though it means revealing his best kept secret to the rest of the world.
1. Infertility

It was early November when John and Mary stopped by Baker Street looking exceptionally depressed, tired, and down right awful. John let himself in with the key he had kept from three years ago when he was last living in 221b. Sherlock was upstairs playing a particularly beautiful piece on his Violin, which John guessed was probably Bach. The Watsons walked in and Sherlock kept on playing another few bars until he reached the end of the allegro from what was indeed Bach's sonata no.1 in g minor, the last few notes ringing out in the air.

The detective placed the valuable 18th century Violin carefully on his armchair, before turning around to greet his best friend and his best friend's wife. They both looked like they were in particularly bad spirits today. Neither of them were looking at the other whilst they hanged up their hats and coats on the newly acquired coat rack. Mary looked even more sad than John, and something Sherlock can only perceive as guilt showed in her eyes.

One week ago John had confided in Sherlock that he and Mary had been trying to conceive their first child for over a year now, and were as of yet having no luck. He said that they were going to go to a fertility clinic next week so they could try and shed some light on their problem. Sherlock had managed to deduce that they were trying for a baby a few months earlier, but hadn't said anything. John said that Mary hadn't wanted anyone to know that they were trying to conceive, so the doctor begged Sherlock not to tell Mary he knows. This information combined with the fact that Mary looked sadder than John as well as guilt-ridden, led him to assume that their must be something wrong with Mary's body and not John's sperm.

The detective walked into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and came back to see John hugging a lightly crying Mary on the sofa. John looked up to Sherlock and gently released Mary from his embrace. Mary wiped her eyes and turned her attention to Sherlock, who had brought his armchair opposite the sofa and taken a seat.

Pretending he hadn't deduced why the couple were so upset, Sherlock asked "What's happened?"

John gave him a tight but kind smile. He then turned to his wife and, after she gave a consenting nod, began to retell Sherlock what they had been trying to do for the last fourteen months.

"Mary and I have been trying to have a baby for a year now, so we went to a fertility clinic today. My sperm is fine, but unfortunately it will be impossible for us to have a baby naturally. Mary's uterus will not allow her to carry any children, and her eggs never reach the maturity required to be suitable for conception."

After listening to all of what John had to say, Sherlock was somewhat surprised to hear just how dire Mary's fertility situation was. In theory they could treat her, but it could take a while and pregnancy at her age came with a higher risk of a miscarriage.

"We are going to look into a combination of surrogacy and donor conception now so if we did have a child then he or she would at least have genetic relations to one of his parents. If we don't find a surrogate we like then we are going to adopt. John and I are desperate to have a child Sherlock, I can't believe that it is going to be so hard!" Mary's eyes then started to water again, but she quickly wiped them with her sleeve.

"We will only use a surrogate if we like them and know them first, and the same goes for the egg donor. I once treated a little boy who came into the world through donor conception, and because his parents didn't know the genetic father, they didn't know a lot of the child's family history. When he was seven he was taken into hospital for headaches that turned out to be a brain tumour that tends to be genetically recurring. If anyone had told his family that he was at risk then that child would have been saved so much pain. I don't want to put that risk on a kid."

John looked to Mary for support in this and she nodded firmly. After hearing this Sherlock tried to think of anyone who would possibly be a surrogate for Mary and John. There was Molly, of course, who would almost certainly be kind enough to give up her uterus for nine months to allow Mary and John to have a child. Mary's friend Janine might have done it in the past, if Sherlock hadn't broken up their fake relationship in one of the cruelest ways possible. Mary didn't have many other friends, and certainly none that are close enough for her to consider asking them to be her surrogate.

John could ask Harry, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to allow an alcoholic to carry a baby, no matter how much she says she has 'recovered'. Candidates for the egg donor is even more tricky for Sherlock to think of. Molly probably wouldn't do it, it would be too strange for her to have a child that was genetically both her's and John's. Again it is possible for Harry to be an egg donor, but if that were to happen then John wouldn't be able to be the Father.

An unbidden thought springs into Sherlock's mind. He knew that he was born a rarity. A freak, is what anyone who has come anywhere close to sleeping with Sherlock had said. He had been born with two sets of reproductive systems, both male and female, one behind the other. He was a True Hermaphrodite, intersex, whatever you want to call it.

Growing up no one suspected much until he was about twelve. All of his teachers thought he was a boy, all of his classmates thought he was a boy, and that was all that really mattered to him. Then came the horrors of puberty. Sherlock had the _amazing _idea during the summer of his eleventh year on this planet that he would learn four years worth of school work in one summer holidays. Mycroft bet him his Microscope that he couldn't do it, but that just made him more and more determined.

He studied and studied until finally he was at the same academic level as fifteen year olds. When he went to school he was top of the class. A class full of older, broader, deeper voiced boys. When he was twelve his chest started to get slightly larger. One day he looked in the mirror and saw two small, but undoubtably there, breasts developing on his chest. When he saw this he ran down stairs to where his Mother was in the Kitchen cooking breakfast and dragged her up to his room. He turned around and shut the door as soon as she was inside. Unable to help it, Sherlock's chin started wobbling and he realised he was dangerously close to crying.

He explained to his mum what was happening to his body, and Mrs. Holmes brought him to her chest and comforted her son in his distress. She told him that she would book an appointment at the doctors to see what they could do. A week later Sherlock was coming out of the special clinic they were referred to with enough Testosterone for him to inject into himself to last him for three months.

The doctor he saw was called Dr. Clarke, an amazing woman who was doing amazing things in the field of Gynaecology and Gender Identity. Back then she was scorned for her work because there were a lot more homophobic and transphobic arseholes around back then. She was young, tall, blonde, skinny, and beautiful though, so the men in her field let her have her way more often than they didn't. No one would guess that inside of her she had a testis as well as two ovaries, which the discovery of inspired her to do incredible work in her field of medicine.

Except for the fact that John and Mary might (probably would be, if his nearly non-existent dating life was anything to go by) be horrified and disgusted by the very thought of having their precious offspring being nurtured in a man's womb, Sherlock would suggest his solution immediately. Everyone except his close family had avoided him after they found out about his inner workings, but perhaps John and Mary would be different.

He had asked Dr. Clarke when he was 16 about the likely hood of having children. She said that it is possible for him to father his own offspring barring any complications that the rest of the male population face, like bad swimmers. In order for him to mother children though he would have to either use a surrogate or go off of his testosterone and start on some Oestrogen for a half year at least before attempting to conceive. After his last cocaine-morphine binge Mycroft took him back to Dr. Clarke, who was now a lot older than when he last saw her, and she said that despite his reckless behaviour there was no damage to his reproductive organs. The detective was immensely lucky in this regard, most people have their chances of parenting greatly reduced after taking as much drugs as he had.

There was no doubt in the detective's mind that he would do all of this for John. He knew how bad the body dysphoria would be, how much his body would change, how painful childbirth would be. He has survived being tortured and shot though, so it can't be any worse than that.

The only thing now stopping Sherlock from suggesting himself as the surrogate and/or egg donor, is the fear of John leaving him. His mother once said to him that a true friend wouldn't care that he has an ovary or two as well as his 'boy parts' as she had called them then. Sherlock knew that John would die for him, the Moriarty encounter at the pool had taught him that. If John was willing to kill and die for him, stay his friend even after the drugs and the faked suicide and countless other incidences, then why on earth would he leave him now?


	2. Explanations

'_If John was willing to kill and die for him, to stay his friend even after the drugs and the faked suicide and countless other incidences, then why on earth would he leave him now?'_

"I'll carry your child if you like." Sherlock suggested. He said it so casually that he might as well of been suggesting that he make a cup of tea. The detective's heart started to beat faster when the couple sitting opposite him didn't say anything for a few moments. Thoughts of regret tumbled through Sherlock's head disturbingly quickly. Not regret because he was having second thoughts, but because he was scared of what John was thinking.

Sherlock looked up from where he had his head in his hands and saw his friends with very different emotions on their faces. Mary looked utterly confused, like she was trying to work out whether or not Sherlock was kidding. For anyone else she would have brushed off his comment as a joke. A joke in very bad taste, but a joke none the less. However, this was Sherlock Holmes after all, and one could never quite work out if he was messing around or not.

John however looked angry. Sherlock knew that John had been seeing a therapist and attending a group session for his anger every week since he returned, but in this moment he looked absolutely _furious_. The vein in his temple was clearly visible now, and his face was going red. He took three deep breaths (probably something he learned in anger management, Sherlock noted) and lifted his head up to look Sherlock in the eye.

"Why on _earth _would you even _think _about making a joke about this!" John said softly. Mary tugged on his sleeve to try to get him to calm down, but he just shook her off.

"Mary and I have been trying _so hard _to have a baby, we've just found out that it is impossible for us to do so naturally and you make a _joke! _You are unbelievable sometimes Sherlock, _unbelievable_!" With that John stood up and went to get his jacket from the coat rack.

"John wait, I'm serious!" Sherlock shouted, panicked by his best mate's wrong interpretation of his suggestion. He stood up and walked swiftly over to the door way, blocking John's path out of the situation.

"I don't want to hear it Sherlock, I'll text you later on today or tomorrow when I've calmed down and when you realise why it was entirely inappropriate to say that!" The shorter man tried to move past the human obstacle in his way, without any luck.

"I wasn't joking John! This may come as a slight shock to you, but I _can_ actually carry children. I'm sure you've come across the term Hermaphrodite before, with you being a doctor and all, but judging by your wife's expression my guess is that _she_ hasn't. Why don't we both go sit down and tell Mary what a Intersexuality is, and then you can ask your questions and I will do my best to answer them."

Throughout Sherlock's little speech Mary hadn't left her place on the sofa. John's anger had vanished away faster than a breath on the wind, and what was left looked like a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He allowed himself to be guided back towards the sofa by the detective, and once Sherlock himself had sat down he turned to Mary.

"Now before I say anything," Sherlock started, "Please know that if you like you can stop me at any point and shoot down my idea. I will not be offended." Mary nodded. "Basically speaking, a Hermaphrodite is an organism that has a reproductive system comprised of both male and female parts. He, she, it, they, or whatever other pronouns I'm missing may have a complete reproductive system of one sex and just a small part of the opposite, such as a man with a normal outer appearance but an extra ovary inside of him. This is just one example, but there are many more different combinations that all come under the heading 'Hermaphrodite'. Anything you'd like to add, John?"

John shook his head. It was only just dawning on him that Sherlock isn't screwing with him, and he is actually serious. The consequences of his suggestion earlier started to play on his mind, and what it means for his and Mary's options for having children. John was also a tad confused as to how Sherlock had hidden it from him all of the years he had known him, and why. Did he not trust him with the knowledge? Did he trust anyone?

Sherlock then continued his scientific explanation of his condition. "Firstly, I have a complete male reproductive system. If an individual saw me naked they wouldn't see anything unusual for a male until closer inspection, at which point said individual would probably start to get confused. Behind my male reproductive system I have something even more rare in homo sapiens, a complete female reproductive system. When I was 12 I was taken to a special doctor, a lovely lady called Dr. Josephine Clarke who specialises in unusual and untypical individuals such as myself. I had just started puberty at the time and was distraught to find that I had breasts growing. It is a strange and horrible feeling having something so _wrong_ growing on you. It is nearly impossible for cisgender people to relate to the feeling."

Sherlock looked into the middle distance for a minute with an absent look in his eyes before shaking his head slightly and turning back to John and Mary. "After I returned from my...travels abroad during the two years you thought I was dead -so sorry about that by the way- Mycroft took me back to Dr. Clarke, and then again after the drugs. Remarkably there was no permanent damage to my reproductive organs, although the same couldn't be said for my kidneys. Thanks to Mycroft though I still have two working ones."

To anyone else talking about your privates would be mortifying, but the detective never had been very modest. The Buckingham Palace incident taught everyone that. John looked stunned by now. His face had returned to its normal colour though, and he was sitting back looking quite comfortable on the old sofa. The thought of Sherlock actually _pregnant _was hard to get his head around, but Sherlock pregnant with his baby was even harder. He wasn't against the idea though, and that was what confused him the most.

"I have been taking Testosterone every seven days since I was twelve years old, first through injections and now more recently through pills. I have kept this a secret from nearly everyone except my close family, and by that I mean my parents and Mycroft. Please think about what I have told you whilst I get my medical records and testosterone. I'm sure that their existence will be proof if you don't believe me."

With that Sherlock leapt up from his armchair and whisked himself away into his bedroom. Mary turned to John and asked him, "Well what do you think?"

"Honestly, I have absolutely no idea." John responded. And it was true. How on earth do you decide what to think when you have been given so much information in one go? First of all, his male flatmate is capable of carrying children. That alone is a huge shock. Secondly, said flatmate is willing to carry his child. Sherlock Holmes is not often described as selfless, and he has just offered to do one of the most selfless things John can imagine.

A crash came from Sherlock's bedroom, making the couple jump. A moment later the madman came out of his room with a folder and a glass bottle the size of a small tea cup. He quickly walked over to the coffee table and placed the two items in front of John and Mary.

"I take two of the testosterone pills at a time. The records are only available to Mycroft, myself, and my Doctor. Feel free to read them, I'm not embarrassed."

John cast his eyes over the bottle and picked up the folder, then began reading. Mary turned her attention to Sherlock instead.

"Are you sure that you would do this for us? It would mean no dangerous cases, experiments, smoking, drugs, alcohol, coffee, you'd have to eat regular meals, and that's excluding all of the physical things that are going to start happening. Your body would never be quite the same again."

"I know all of this. My ankles and fingers would swell, I would probably get morning sickness, I'd get cravings, even _more_ mood swings than I get already, and that is excluding the fact that there would be a tiny human being inside of me. I know what being pregnant entails."

John placed the folder back down on the table after he had read it. "I know that if you did this Sherlock that you would be very responsible and stay off anything that could harm the baby. What I want to know is if you are sure about this. Because once you start the process then you can turn back up until you actually become pregnant. After that you would have to see it through."

"I know John, and I am sure. I would love to do this for the both of you."

"Are you saying that you would just be a surrogate or are you willing to donate your eggs too?" Mary said.

"Whatever you want. If you find an egg donor you would prefer then use that lady's ova. If not, then I would be perfectly happy for you to use mine."

"Mary and I will go away and talk about this Sherlock. You need to do the same. How about we come back on Monday -it's a bank holiday, if I'm not mistaken- and talk again then?" John asked Sherlock.

"Okay, how about seven o'clock here? I'll order take out. Chinese?"

"That sounds great!" Mary said enthusiastically, "We'll see you then. Make sure you really think about this though Sherlock. Don't go into this half-heartedly. It's all or nothing."

"I will." Sherlock replied sincerely.

John and Mary stood up and Sherlock went with them downstairs. He kissed Mary on the cheek goodbye and waved to John. To any other group of friends someone coming out as intersex would be a _huge_ deal, but to them it was unexpected, yes, but not nearly as much as some of the other things that have happened within the last few years.

Sherlock knew that there was no question that he would put his body through all of the changes that come with being pregnant. He knew that he would love the child and his priorities would forever be altered, but he would do it. The only thing Sherlock was dreading was having to give up the child to John and Mary, although they would undoubtably let him see the baby.

He knows his choice, and in two days time he'll know John and Mary's. Until then all Sherlock can do is research more on pregnancy in non-cisgender people, and hope that John wants him do this.

**A/N:**

**I do not own Sherlock, etc... **

**I'm not a doctor, so sorry if I get anything wrong medically. I mean no offence to anyone in this fic.**

**I write prompts if they take my fancy, so if you are interested then PM me your idea!**


	3. Mutual Agreement

Over the next few days Sherlock kept to his word and thought a lot about what is -possibly- going to happen. He gave his remaining cigarettes to a man in his homeless network; he actually cleaned the flat from top to bottom; and he went down to the library and researched for hours on pregnancy. Most of the books he read were about women's pregnancy, but that was to be expected. He did however find one small entry in a big book about a transgender man (FTM) who put his sex change on hold to have a baby.

After he went to the library he continued his research at home. Sherlock found several more stories from parents who were non-binary, trans, and a few intersex. There was a mix of promising results and negative results from all genders.

On Monday morning the detective took a case from the blog to distract himself. It was the theft of a grand piano worth £80,000. Burglaries weren't usually his thing, but this isn't the theft of a ring or a necklace or something small, this was a _Grand Piano_! The case was solved as soon as the owner thanked him for coming to investigate on a Sunday. The old man had been drugged with enough sedative to make him sleep through Saturday night, the whole of Sunday, and Sunday night. He was very confused when every one told him it was Monday, but after a lengthy explanation the old man understood what had happened. That left the thieves a whole day to steal the Piano. They simply had to look on the CCTV footage of the road outside on the right day to find the license plate of the van the criminals used.

After he had solved the case, the elderly gentleman offered him a check for £5,000 for his efforts. Now usually Sherlock would politely decline, but today he took the money after thanking the Gentleman. He thought that perhaps he would start a trust fund for John and Mary's baby.

When he got home he called the chinese takeaway down the road and asked them to deliver their food at quarter past seven this evening. Then he cleaned and polished his Violin, and preceded to play. Sherlock zoned out whilst he was playing, and before he knew it the time was seven o'clock and the doorbell was ringing.

Sherlock was about to go downstairs but he heard Mrs. Hudson open the door, followed by the inevitable 'hellos' and 'it's lovely to see you agains' and the 'may we come ins'. He briefly wondered what Mrs. Hudson would say if he got pregnant, and whether or not she would approve. Then he remembered that she had been a stripper, used to co-run a drug cartel with her murderous ex-husband, and that she'd always assumed that John and himself were a couple up until he had married Mary. She probably wouldn't mind at all.

When John and Mary came in they looked around with open mouths at the state of the flat. Sherlock suddenly felt self-conscious about how over prepared he was. He drummed his fingers against his leg and greeted Mary and John with a rare warm smile.

"The takeaway is arriving in about fifteen minutes. Make yourselves at home." Sherlock said.

The couple sat down on the sofa and Sherlock sat opposite on his armchair, exactly where they had all been sitting three days ago. They looked at each other awkwardly in anticipation of how the night would proceed. Mary broke the uncomfortable silence by asking Sherlock, "Have you changed your mind about being a surrogate or an egg donor?"

He took a deep breath before saying, "No. It would be an honour to be either one of those for you. So have _you_ made up your minds your mind about me being a surrogate or an egg donor?"

John and Mary looked at each other for final confirmation.

"Yes," John answered. "We have. If you are absolutely and completely sure about this Sherlock, then we would love it if you could be our surrogate and egg donor."

A ridiculous sense of glee went through Sherlock when he heard that. He had to remind himself yet again that he would not be the child's father after the birth, and that legally speaking he would have very little say in the child's future. He wouldn't be raising him or her, the child won't be _his_.

"I'm absolutely sure. I'll stop taking the T -testosterone- immediately, and I believe I'll need to start taking some oestrogen or something to help get myself ready. It will still take several months or even a year before anything can happen though."

"Oh my god. I can't believe this is really happening! We're going to be parents Mary!" John exclaimed.

"I promise that I won't touch drugs or alcohol or coffee-" Sherlock said before John interrupted him.

"I know you won't. Many people would deem you untrustworthy but that is with small things. I know you will take this seriously. The child will probably be so healthy when it is born because you'll find some special drink or make a magic pill that accelerates the foetus's growth or something else utterly ridiculous."

"I would never ingest anything of the sort without rigorous testing on other people." Sherlock remarked.

"He's kidding, Sherlock. What my husband is trying to say is that you are going to be a fantastic surrogate and take great care of the baby. And if the child turns out anything like you, we will be the luckiest parents alive, but I'm sure that they'll be quite a handful!"

The faith that John and Mary had in him was surprising. Sherlock was also surprised by Mary's view on him providing half of the genes necessary for a baby. He would have thought she'd be angry over not being able to be the genetic mother herself, and perhaps resenting him a bit for being able to provide John with something she can't.

Just then the doorbell rang. Sherlock stood up and half-walked/half-ran to the door to take their orders from the Chinese takeaway man outside. He thanked him in flawless Mandarin, and ran back upstairs after paying.

Sherlock handed everyone their orders and said, "Would you like to watch some Doctor Who or Casualty?"

"Definitely Doctor Who. I believe that John and I both have had too many hours at the clinic today, I can't bare to see another patient. Even if they're on the telly." Mary replied.

The soon-to-be-surrogate switched on the TV and turned the channel to BBC 1. John always thought Sherlock hated science fiction, but secretly he enjoyed it.

Whilst he was tucking in to his crispy duck, John suddenly thought about what everyone else is going to think about Sherlock. From what he'd gathered, only Sherlock's family knew that he could have children. Unless they all move to a quiet spot in the countryside, once Sherlock starts to show people are going to talk. Considering the fact that they were now celebrities, the press would probably take an interest in his new figure.

At first they would assume that he has put on some fat, but in the late second and third trimester, people will want answers. What on earth can they say? Sherlock probably wouldn't want the whole world to know he's got a baby inside of him. If they told everyone he was pregnant there would be people strongly against him.

"What are we going to tell everyone?" John asked to nobody in particular.

Sherlock turned down the telly and turned to him. "We'll tell them the truth if they ask, as long as it's alright with you. It's going to be pretty obvious to those with a working brain what caused the swelling if one day I have a 55 inch waistline and the next I have a 35 inch one."

"55 inches is quite big for even a nine months pregnant."

"Unless you've forgotten I have got the waistline of a male human, I'm going to have a larger waistline than the average woman."

John kicked himself for not remembering that, he was a doctor for christ's sake!

"Are you sure you're comfortable with everyone knowing you're intersex Sherlock? You'd be literally coming out to the whole world!" Mary asked.

"I'm sure. Mycroft can deal with anyone who has a serious problem with it, and it could do amazing things for intersex rights. Not many people in our generation know that we even exist. We aren't allowed to change our sex classification unless we identify as transgender and have a diagnosis of gender dysphoria. There is also very little protection for us against discrimination and we don't have the same rights as men and women."

Mary and John listened on in shock. They were both surprised that in England, a very developed country, intersex people had such little rights.

"But luckily for me," Sherlock continued, "My brother has eased my way through any legal proceedings, and the matter of my identity has never been revealed."

That was the first time John had ever heard Sherlock thank his brother. It was nicer than the usual complaints and sneers.

"I'll book an appointment with Dr. Clarke as early as possible. She will probably give me some pill or injection to take for the next few months."

"We really can't thank you enough Sherlock. Very few people would be prepared to do this for someone else. I'm sure Mary will agree that we owe you for the rest of our lives." John thanked him.

The rest of the evening passed on in relative silence, except for Sherlock shouting at the TV. Sherlock couldn't help but thinking about how much he would give to raise the baby with John. What would the child look like? Boy or girl? Brown curly hair or blonde straight hair? Tall or short? Would they like science, reading and the violin, or sports and socialising? The balance of probability would suggest that the child has dark curly hair and blue eyes with a skin tone leaning towards John's.

Little did Sherlock know that John was thinking very similar things from across the room. As soon as John had realised Sherlock was intersex, he couldn't stop imagining what their child would look like, or how they'd act. Before Sherlock jumped John was going to tell him how he felt, and afterwards he felt that he couldn't. He was in a relationship with Mary, and was going to marry her. If Sherlock didn't return his feelings then he wasn't going to throw that away.

Neither of them could wait for the child to be born.

A/N:

There will be Johnlock eventually, I promise!

Please review, anyone who has written a fanfic knows how much they mean to the author!

-Irena. N


	4. A visit to the doctor

The next morning Sherlock got up feeling quite happy. It was an unusual feeling for him to feel when John wasn't around, and he took pleasure in it. He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, still in his pyjamas, and imagined what he would look like in the next year and a half.

_I will probably be able to get pregnant within six months thanks to Dr. Clarke,_ Sherlock thought. _At eight weeks pregnant I will be able to feel a bump, although no one will notice it. At twelve weeks there will be a significant decrease in risk to the baby, and other people will start to notice I'm putting on weight. By sixteen weeks I will look pregnant, not fat. It will undoubtably confuse Anderson and the media will probably take an interest. By twenty weeks I'll be halfway through the gestation period. By thirty weeks I'll be very pregnant and it will be clear to any idiot that I'm carrying a child. My breasts will start to develop and lactate, but I'll make Mycroft get me a binder. At around 40 weeks, or possibly earlier, I'll go into labour. I will have a caesarian section, and then the baby will be alive and well, barring and complications._

Sherlock walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He went to go pick up his Testosterone but caught himself just before he swallowed the first pill. To avoid any mistakes he poured every single capsule into the toilet and flushed it with satisfaction. He had made a commitment and he was going to stick to it. Sherlock had a long shower, got dressed in a black suit and blue shirt, and went down stairs to Mrs. Hudson's for food.

Usually he would never eat breakfast, but John said that he needed to put on some weight, so that is what he was going to do.

Next he went out to the local Waterstones book shop and picked up a new moleskin notebook. He planned on writing about everything that happened in the lead up to and during his pregnancy to keep track of even the most minute changes. Sherlock then went over to the maternity section.

As he was browsing, a young women came up to him. She wore frightfully bad make-up which made her skin look orange and flaky. Her eyelashes were stuck together in clumps with what was probably a cheap mascara, and her eye shadow was so over the top it made the bottom of her eyebrows blue. He didn't say anything though because she looked slightly round around her middle, and that combined with looking at maternity books made him believe she was pregnant.

"How many weeks along are you?" Sherlock asked.

The young woman -probably no more than 20 years old- said "Six. How about you?"

It took Sherlock a minute to realise that she was joking. He chuckled and said "I'm not. And I don't have a wife or girlfriend either. This is research for my job."

She nodded and asked, "Do I know you from somewhere. You look familiar but I can't quite place you. My name's Eleanor by the way."

Deciding to tell her the truth, Sherlock said, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I have a friend called John Watson, and we are in the news quite a lot. I faked my own death a while back, the press had a huge story to write when I returned. This research is for a case I'm working on. I can't tell you any more than that, sorry."

"Oh my god it's you! My friend Jazzy is crazy about you! She reads all of John's posts on the blog and follows all of the news about you two. She will be so jealous when I tell her I met you!"

Usually something like this would annoy Sherlock, but today few things could crush his spirits. "Do you know of any good books on the first trimester?"

After ten minutes of choosing he had picked out three different books. Sherlock then payed and headed back to Baker Street.

* * *

Sherlock got a text from Mycroft. It read _'I hope you are sure about this, brother mine. I have booked you an appointment today with Dr. Clarke. A car will be ready to pick you up at 2 o'clock outside Baker Street. MH' _

Feeling a little irritated Sherlock threw his phone back on the couch. He looked at the clock in the kitchen which read 12:01, and for the next hour scoured the flat from top to bottom for cameras and microphones. By the time one o'clock came around he had found 16 microphones and 14 cameras. The only two rooms which had just microphones were his bedroom and the bathroom. Thank god Mycroft had some sense of privacy nowadays.

Then he went to change out of his suit into something more comfortable. Sherlock selected his only pair of jeans, and put a black T-shirt on underneath his dress shirt. That way when the doctor did her inevitable ultrasound on his lower abdomen he wouldn't get anything expensive covered in jelly.

Then he prepared a cheese and tomato sandwich for lunch. As he was eating the doorbell rang, and he heard Mrs. Hudson cheerfully greet the person standing in the doorway. Sherlock heard Lestrade's voice say something along the lines of 'hello, it's great to see you, can I come in, is Sherlock in, etc...'

Thirty seconds later Lestrade was coming through the door looking a tad out of breath and far too stressed for this early in the day.

"Hello Lestrade, how may I help you?"

The Detective Inspector looked at him oddly, and his eyes widened when he realised that he wasn't wearing his trademark suit. "Are you feeling okay mate?"

"Yes! Absolutely. What about you, are _you_ feeling alright?" Then Sherlock gestured to his plate. "Would you like me to make you one?"

Now Lestrade looked at him with worry. "You're not on the sweets again, are you Sherlock?"

"Drugs? No. No no no no no. If you don't belive me I'll pee in a cup and you can send it off to Molly. I'm just happy. It's a great _feeling_ isn't it. Now what have you got for me?" A big grin was plastered on to his face as he took another bite of his sandwich.

"There's been a murder suicide in the middle of St. James's park. I know that this would normally seem boring, but the bullets were handmade, and no gun has been found at the scene. What's more is nobody heard any gun shots. We've tried everything but it would be great if you could take a look at it."

"So sorry Lestrade, but I'm a bit busy today. Take lots of photos and send them to me and I'll see what I can do."

"What! But this case is at least an eight! You never miss these. What's going on?"

"Can't tell you that, sorry. My car should be here any moment now." Almost exactly after he said that a car honked outside. "Got to go, bye! Good luck with the case."

With that Sherlock dashed downstairs and put his coat on. He opened the door and saw the black Aston Martin waiting for him and got in the back seat.

"Good afternoon Anthea. How has your day been?" Sherlock asked the woman who still refused to reveal her real name.

"Good." was her short reply that left no room for discussion.

They settled in for the next half an hour journey to the clinic. When they got there the car went around the back and into a staff parking space. "Less chance of anyone seeing you arrive here, Mr. Holmes." was Anthea's explanation.

Sherlock got out of the car and followed Anthea into the building through the side entrance. Then, instead of going to the waiting room, she led him straight into a clinic room. Dr. Clarke was inside, sitting at her computer desk and looking at his notes. Anthea shut the door behind him and he heard her footsteps walking away.

"Hello Sherlock! It's great to see you again. How are you feeling?" The doctor asked.

"Great. How about you?" Sherlock responded whilst going to sit on the examination table.

"I'm alright. Now I understand that you are trying to have a baby?"

"I want to be a surrogate and egg donor for John and Mary Watson. I assume you've heard of them. Before you ask I have thought this through, I know about the body dysphoria and how my body's going to change. I want to do this for my friends and nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise."

"I wasn't going to try and change your mind, you've been incredibly stubborn ever since you were a little boy. I think that what you're willing to do for your friends is very selfless."

She stood up and came over to a stool at the end of the table. "Sorry Sherlock, but you're going to have to have lots of exams in the near future. I need to do an ultrasound on you ovaries and a complete pelvic exam."

Never being a very shy person, Sherlock had already started to unbutton his shirt. When he was done he put it on a chair to the side of the bed, stood up and took his trousers and underwear off. He then went and sat back on the bed and waited, wearing only his black t-shirt. Dr. Clarke got the ultrasound wand out and squeezed on some of the cold jelly stuff.

Sherlock lifted up his shirt up to just below his rib cage. Dr. Clarke then placed the wand on his skin and looked at the monitor. To Sherlock the image didn't make much sense, but to her it must be crystal clear because she then said, "Everything is looking fine. I'll start the pelvic exam now. Please put your feet in the stirrups."

Sherlock never liked this bit. It was always a bit weird to have someone touching him down there, but he did what she said anyway.

She put on a pair of gloves and squeezed a type of lubrication onto her fingers. Then she put one inside of him gently and started feeling around and pressing down on his abdomen. It felt a bit uncomfortable and awkward having her fingers in him, but he knew that in the end if it makes sure the baby will be safe then it would be worth it.

"Everything seems fine so far, now I just need to take a look at your cervix. If anything hurts, just tell me and I'll try to make things more comfortable for you."

Sherlock was used to this by now. Dr. Clarke took a vaginal speculum and gently inserted it in him. Then she took an instrument that looked like a small spatula and took a sample from his cervix. Next she removed all instruments and changed her gloves.

"Nearly done now. I'll just check your prostate and then we will have a chat about the medications you will need to take."

The doctor squeezed more lube on to her fingers and slowly eased one into Sherlock's anus. She pushed up at a practised angle and hit his prostate softly. Trying not to put too much pressure on the sensitive organ to avoid anything embarrassing happening, she completed the exam in under thirty seconds.

"All done. Now put your clothes back on and we can talk about how to proceed. I didn't find anything worrying, and fingers crossed pathology won't either on the pap test. Your friends are very lucky to have a friend like you, Sherlock."

**A/N:**

**Bit of an odd place to stop the chapter, I know, but it was getting too long for my liking. Please review!**

**-Irena. N**


	5. Bloody Hell

**A/N: This has taken me ages to get out, so sorry! **

_Four months later_

It was still pitch black outside when Sherlock woke up to a horrible feeling low in his belly. He groaned softly into his pillow before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and into his slippers. He walked to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet seat to confirm his suspicions.

Sure enough he found his boxers and his pyjama trousers stained with dark red blood. Sherlock was expecting to start menstruating in about another month or so, so unfortunately hadn't purchased and pads or tampons. He thought about his options, which consisted of John, Mary, or Mrs. Hudson. His watch read 3:15 am, so he couldn't exactly ask Mrs. H to buy him tampons without a reason, and now was not the time to come out to his eighty year old landlady. Mary would most likely know more about which brands to buy than John, so Mary it is.

Sherlock stuffed a few tissues into the underwear that he would be throwing away soon and got his phone. He went on to the favourites section and selected Mary's name, and waited for her to pick up.

"Sherlock why are you calling at silly o'clock in the morning? Some of us actually have to sleep you know. Mary and I do not want to come on a case with you." John's voice echoed down the phone. He must have picked up his wife's phone then by mistake.

"Can I speak to Mary? I need her help."

"Mary is still asleep, somehow. You can have my help Sherlock. Take it or leave it."

"John I really need Mary's help right now. She is better suited to the task."

"What could you possibly need from Mary that I can't help with?"

"Oh for God's sake John do I need to spell it out? I've started menstruating."

The other line went quiet for a moment.

"Ah. Right. Sorry. I'll wake her up for you. Seriously though, so soon! You're not due to start for at least another month."

"Yes yes, it's awesome, etcetera. Now pass me over."

"What's wrong Sherly?" Mary slurred sleepily over the phone.

"I need you to go and get me anything I need for a period. That includes lots of painkillers because _oh my god_ this hurts a lot more than I thought it would."

"Sure thing love. I'll be over in about an hour and a half. Bye!"

"Bye." Sherlock hanged up and headed for the shower.

* * *

Sherlock found himself waiting downstairs an hour and fifteen minutes later. He didn't want to disturb his landlady this early on in the morning, so he might as well wait for Mary here.

After five minutes of sitting on the hard step and tapping his fingers on the wall, Mary knocked quietly. Sherlock rushed to the door before she decided to ring the doorbell wearing just his dressing gown tightly knotted around his waist and pyjama bottoms. He unlocked the latch and let her in.

"Do you have painkillers?! I've been in so much pain here I have actually considered going back on my promise and getting some morphine! How on earth do all of you women cope!?" Sherlock yelled quietly at her.

"Okay, okay! I've got something for you here, just calm down! You're not asthmatic are you?"

"No."

"Alright then. Here is some ibuprofen, it should get to work in about half an hour. Until then I got you a hot water bottle. It is actually surprisingly effective for relieving pain."

Sherlock grabbed the bottle of pills, quickly read the label, and swallowed two dry. Next, he took the hot water bottle and dashed upstairs with it, leaving Mary to follow. The kettle clicked not thirty seconds later, and Sherlock sat down at the table in the kitchen. Mary sat down opposite and put the bag on the table.

"Now what do you want to use, pads or tampons?" she asked.

"I was going to say pads, but now I'm thinking about it, they're only designed for women's underwear, aren't they? I don't have any of them, so it'll have to be tampons. Why did you get so many different ones?"

"I didn't know which ones you would prefer. Keep them all and you'll find out which ones are best. Now go and try one of them, I assume you don't need me to tell you how to use them?"

Sherlock blushed for a moment, and Mary decided not to tease him for it. "I'm alright, thanks. I'll just, um, go."

With that, he stood up and took a pack of tampons from the table and left for the bathroom. The kettle had clicked off a few minutes earlier so Mary stood up and busied herself with preparing a hot water bottle and a cup of tea for herself and the gloomy detective.

When Sherlock emerged five minutes later he went to his room to put a shirt on. When he had done that he went and sat down opposite where Mary was sitting on the sofa and she passed him the hot water bottle.

"The pain should pass in a few days tops. If the pain killers don't work then do some exercises like sit-ups, they sometimes help."

"I swear to god cisgender men have got no idea what the hell women go through. I would prefer to be punched in the balls than this!" exclaimed Sherlock.

"Thank you so much again for this, Sherlock. It means so much to me and John. It will only be a few more months of this and then we can try for a baby!" Mary said. "I'm going to go back home now and try to catch a few more hours before the surgery opens. You should try and sleep too. Call me again if you need anything." Mary stood up and went to kiss Sherlock on the temple before saying her goodbyes and leaving.

* * *

"Sherlock! I've got a case for you, and I think you'll like it. A locked room murder in the Ritz! Of all places. (A/N: For those of you who don't know, The Ritz is a very prestigious five star hotel in London.) Come by in about an hour, by then all of the forensic people should be done."

The voicemail had been left to Sherlock ten minutes ago by Lestrade. He went and called John to tell him he had to meet him there, and then got changed into one of his only pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He was feeling pretty rotten, his lower stomach giving out a dull, constant ache that somehow spread to his lower back and thighs.

He put on a pair of trainers that he usually only wore when he went to the gym, (a private one owned by Mycroft, not one of the filthy public places), and a fleece. Sherlock passed Mrs Hudson on the way outside and she nearly dropped her tea when she saw what he was wearing. She didn't say anything though, just kissed him on the cheek and shut the door behind him.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the Ritz half an hour later, ten minutes before Lestrade asked. He walked up to the DI and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Where is the room?" Sherlock enquired. Lestrade meanwhile was busy choking on a piece of doughnut that had gotten stuck in his throat. The consultant thumped him on the back a few times.

"Are you finished? I'm going to start charging you if it takes you this long!" shouted Sherlock.

"Easy, easy! Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's this way. I'm sorry, I was just surprised. Because, well, you know..." Lestrade cut off his speech awkwardly, gesturing to Sherlock's outfit. "John's already up there waiting. He's taking a look at the body right as we speak."

Lestrade led Sherlock up a rather extravagantly decorated stairwell. The stairs were covered in a plush red carpet, the three walls had wallpaper with small pieces of what looked to be real gold, and three large paintings hanging on each of them. The paintings were very old, and from the grandeur of the whole place, one could assume very expensive.

The two men ducked under the police tape and came into a room where an elderly man lay in a large bed. It looked quite a lot like the scene in Macbeth after Macbeth kills King Duncan, Sherlock thought.

The people who knew Sherlock, who was nearly everyone in the room (after all, when you meet Sherlock Holmes it usually sticks in your mind), stared openly at him. His hair was in disarray, his clothes were scruffy, and his eyes were scrunched up ever so slightly.

"God mate, is it that bad?" a familiar voice asked. John walked over to Sherlock and slapped him on the arm good-naturedly.

"Yeah, it bloody well is that bad. Now, who's the victim?"

Sherlock spent the next ten minutes looking around the room for clues. John was chatting with Lestrade about the whole 'Clueing for looks' escapade, until Sherlock turned to him and asked him urgently, "Shit, John, what time is it?"

"Ugh, it's ten-thirty. Why?" John replied.

"Oh, damn damn damn damn damn!" Sherlock whisper-shouted. He then dug into his pocket for something, ignoring John's question. He pulled out two pink pills and one white one.

"Ahh, I see. Don't worry Sherlock, it won't make a difference in the long run." Sherlock took all three of them at the same time.

"I know. Still, this is the first time I forgot." Sherlock said.

"Are you alright mate? If it ain't drugs, well I assume it's not considering John here knows what it is, then what is it? Nothing serious I hope." Greg looked rather worried.

"Don't worry, nothing serious. Just some salt tablets, Sherlock has low blood pressure and we are trying some new meds for it." John lied smoothly.

"I'll need to take some of these files home to look at fully, but I'll have caught you a killer by tomorrow. Laters!" Sherlock left the room and headed home after he snatched the file from Lestrade without an apology. At least it would give him something to do for the next day or so.


	6. Injections

_Four months, a few periods, and a lot of mood swings later_

Sherlock, John, and Mary were in Dr. Clarke's office all together for the first time. Sherlock was sitting on the examination table (with his feet out of the stirrups) and was humming to himself a simple tune. John and Mary sat in two chairs across the room, in a comfortable silence.

They were waiting for the doctor to come back with some information to tell them whether or not Sherlock was ready to begin taking the hormone injections to kick start the ovulation levels needed to harvest the eggs. He had just had a vaginal ultrasound whilst the Watsons waited outside, and he had had loads of blood tests taken the day before. Dr. Clarke had said that she was fairly confident that Sherlock would be ready, but she just needed to run the results by a colleague first.

"What are you thinking about?" John asked Sherlock.

"Edvard Greig's piece Solveig's Sang. What about you?" Sherlock replied.

"That if the results come back the way we want them then you could be pregnant in by next month." A smile ghosted over John and Sherlock's lips.

"And in a year we could have a baby!" Mary said, to John only. John smiled broadly at his wife. He did, however, see Sherlock out of the corner of his eye look momentarily heartbroken. It was the first time he had ever seen that particular expression on the detective's face, and it was gone before he could blink, replaced with a cool mask of indifference.

The door swung open and Dr. Clarke walked in. Her lab coat's top few buttons were undone, revealing a sensible blue shirt. She had earrings in that dangled down to her shoulders, which was unusual for doctors.

"Good news. You can start taking the injections now. I'll show you how to do them, and if you get stuck then just talk to John or Mary. I understand you are both in the medical profession?" Dr. Clarke placed a thick file down on her desk whilst she was talking.

"Yes, yes we are. We can help with anything you need us to." happiness leaked into John's voice.

"You're not afraid of injections are you, Mr. Holmes?" the doctor asked her patient.

"No, I'm not. I'm fine with injecting myself as well, so don't worry." Sherlock replied. An awkward silence settled over them when they realised why that was. Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "Am I right in thinking that they need to be in my thighs or lower stomach?"

"Yes. The area may start to feel quite sore if you inject in the same place twice, so make sure you don't. It will still hurt a bit, but according to your medical history you've certainly gone through worse." Dr. Clarke told him.

"Um, I'm sorry, why would he have gone through something worse?" John asked a bit stiffly.

"Oh, you don't know-" the woman said before being interrupted by Sherlock saying, "The drugs. She meant rehab from the cocaine. It can actually be quite painful."

John seemed slightly satisfied with that answer, but still looked a bit suspicious. Dr Clarke looked at Sherlock with concern and mouthed "_You haven't told them?" _

Dr. Clarke reached under her desk and brought out a box. She then pulled a table from the side of the room to right next to the table where Sherlock was sitting. She told John and Mary to come and join them so they could know how to do it too. Next she showed them how to prepare the injections.

After ten minutes of showing them how to do it and then quizzing them, Dr. Clarke said to Sherlock, "I want you to inject yourself now, just so I know you can do it. Then, every day for the next twelve days, you need to inject yourself just like this, okay? Lie back and pull your shirt up."

Sherlock laid back on the bed and untucked his shirt. The detective disinfected his skin with an alcohol wipe a few inches below his navel. He held out his hand for the syringe, and when he got it he pinched his skin and then pushed the needle in before he had time to think too hard about it. It hurt a bit more than he expected it to when he pushed the plunger, but like the doctor said, he had definitely been through worse.

"That's perfect. Now, because of your situation, I want you to come in here every day for blood tests and ultrasounds. You now need to stop drinking anything caffeinated, no alcohol, no sex, and no heavy exercise. Walking is fine though. In eleven days' time we will give you a different injection to help the eggs mature, and on the thirteenth day we will hopefully be harvesting. Any questions?" She directed the question to everyone.

"No. I don't think we have any. So, I'll see you again tomorrow. What time?" Sherlock spoke.

"I am free at six-thirty. I would quite like to see you every day at that time if that would be alright with you? I want to see you on weekends as well." she said.

"Six-thirty is fine. I will see you then."

"Just remember, you need to take the injection at two o'clock every day. Goodbye! I am really happy for you." Dr. Clarke beamed.

They all left, John with Mary, and Sherlock alone.

* * *

Sherlock was at the yard. It had been two days since he had started taking the injections and his lower stomach was hurting. He decided that he would try his thigh later as a new injection site.

He was looking over some cold case files in Lestrade's office. The older detective had been on the end if some very insistent nagging, so after a few days finally gave in and gave Sherlock a whole box of cases to choose from.

Sherlock's watch beeped. Two o'clock.

"I'm just going to the bathroom. Do not move anything!" Sherlock instructed. He went out of the glass door and down the corridor.

The toilets were not very nice. It became apparent that the budget of Scotland Yard was being used elsewhere considering that two of the stalls were out of order as well as one of the urinals.

Sherlock went into the one at the end and closed the door. He closed the toilet seat and sat on it. His hand fished around in the pocket of his Belstaff and he pulled out a satin lined box that he used to use for his morphine. He set it down on the ledge to his right and then pulled his trousers (not his pants) down.

His finger traced the few track marks along his great saphenous vein, and then disinfected the area with a wipe. He quickly injected the hormones into himself with practised ease, before hearing the door open.

"Sherlock! Are you in here?" Lestrade's gruff voice belted.

"Yes! Just a minute!" Sherlock yelled an answer. He stood up too quickly though, and he knocked the syringe onto the floor and it rolled out from under the stool. "Shit!" he hissed.

"What the- Sherlock! Get out here right now or I'm breaking this bloody door down!"

Sherlock struggled for about ten seconds with his trousers and then quickly pocketed the box. He pushed the door open.

"You're using again. How could you Sherlock?! How could you?! You spent so long working to get clean, and now you just throw it all away!" Lestrade fumed.

"I'm clean. I'll piss in a cup if you want me to. Yes, I did just inject myself with something, but it was prescribed from a doctor. Believe me, I am never touching cocaine or morphine again."

"I can't trust you on that Sherlock, you know that." Lestrade had his hands on his hips.

"Then trust John. Here, I'll call him right now." Sherlock pulled his phone out if his other pocket and speed-dilaled John. It rang out for a few seconds before John said "Hello?"

"Hi John, I need you to convince Gavin here that I'm not on drugs. He caught me with a needle and I don't really want to explain to him my situation, so please just tell him to drop it. I'm passing you over now." with that Sherlock walked out of the bathroom and back to Lestrade's office.

Five minutes later, Lestrade came back. He placed the phone in front of Sherlock and scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Look mate, I'm sorry, but you can't blame me for being suspicious. John explained it to me though, and I understand completely."

"What did he tell you exactly?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"He just said that it was for medical reasons, and that you would be doing it every day for the foreseeable future. If you ever need to talk, I'm here okay Sherlock. You know that right?" Worry was clear on Lestrade's face.

"Yes, I know. Thank you. I'm going to go now. Can I take this home?" Sherlock spoke.

"Ahh, well, actually-" Sherlock interrupted him before he could finish.

"Laters!" Sherlock walked out of the door with the file tucked under his arm.

* * *

"John, how are we going to tell everyone?" It was just the two of them in Baker Street. Sherlock was standing next to the kitchen table with a finger in between a pair of tongs. It was tinged green with a substance John didn't want to know the name of.

"Well, you might not actually have to. We could stay at that cottage in Sussex you told me you grandma left you. It would mean staying inside all day for a long time, but it would work. Why, are you having second thoughts?" the question seemed casual, but a lot of weight rested on John's brows.

"No, I'm not having any second thoughts. I don't want to got to Sussex either. Running and hiding would be like I'm ashamed. Which I'm not. And that is why I've been thinking, I want to come out publicly, if you are okay with that of course."

"I one hundred percent support that, Sherlock. Are you sure though, you'd get a lot of hate for it and many clients would stop coming to see us for help. It would be quite dangerous mate." John sipped his coffee.

"I know it would be dangerous, but Mycroft can deal with any serious threats that come about. Not many people know about intersex people. I am a relatively well known public figure, so if I was to come out then it could actually help to give us more rights. Did you know that if I felt that I was not male but actually female then I wouldn't be able to change my legal status to female unless I said I was transgender?" Sherlock had put down the tongs at some point and was not gesticulating wildly.

"No, I didn't know that. Okay, I will help you to come out publicly. But we have to tell our close friends like Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly, and your parents. I'm not telling mine if that's okay with you, as they may not be as... accepting."

"Let's wait to see if I get pregnant the first time, and then we will tell them. Oh, and who's Greg?"

John face-palmed.

* * *

**A/N: There will be Johnlock, I promise!**


	7. The Fall

Sherlock knocked in the door to the Watson household. The sky was glowing pink in the dusky light, and a swarm of starlings flew overhead. He put his hands in his pockets and waited.

John opened the door.

"Sherlock! Why are you here so late?" he said.

"I need help with the last injection. I know I said I could do it, but it's so big! So, can I come in?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, of course I'll help. Mary and I just finished dinner, and she's gone out to the shops. I would offer you food some but you're meant to be fasting." John spoke.

Sherlock walked in and sat down on the grey sofa opposite their tv. In his pocket he carried with him the final shot of hormones. He felt quite embarrassed that he couldn't do it himself, but he was only used to small injections. Sherlock had walked from Baker Street to Mary and John's place to get some exercise, because he probably wouldn't be wanting to do any after tomorrow.

"Lie back down and pull your shirt up, I'll get some disinfectant wipes." John instructed. Sherlock did as was asked and hooked his knees up and over the arm of the sofa. John walked back in and sat on the coffee table and leaned over.

"Um, could you maybe, uhh, pull your trousers down a bit?" John said awkwardly. Sherlock blushed and undid the button and the fly. John took the massive needle from Sherlock and pushed it in. Sherlock winced slightly but otherwise didn't say anything.

"I've stopped having to shave my beard. My chest has grown slightly. And I have also gained six pounds since switching hormones and eating regularly."

"Well that's to be expected. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll lose it all as soon as the baby's here." John reassured. "There, all done. Do you want to stay and watch something with me?"

"Yes, that would be nice." Sherlock tucked his shirt back in and sat properly on the sofa. John pressed a few buttons on the remote and eventually settled on the news.

They watched in a companionable silence. The next story on was about a five-year-old girl who had been kidnapped, and the police where asking for anyone with information to step forward. Normally a case like this would not bother Sherlock in the slightest, he'd find it interesting. But today, he started crying.

"Oh my god, are you okay mate?" John looked stunned.

"I'm perfectly fine. I just... who would do such a thing to such a little girl?" the tears flowed more freely now.

"Umm, it's okay Sherlock. How about you go down to the yard tomorrow and solve it? I'm sure Lestrade can pull some strings."

"Yes. I'll definitely do that. Why are you looking at me strangely?" Sherlock reached over and got some tissues from the coffee table. His voice was breaking and sobs made his shoulders shake.

"I've only seen you cry twice before. The first time at Baskerville and the second time was-"

"When I killed myself, yes I remember." Sherlock said bitterly.

"No, when you _faked_ your death. You didn't kill yourself, because you are sitting here right now."

"Do you want to know how I did it?" Sherlock's eyes were drier now, the hormone induced mood swing having dissipated.

"Are you actually going to tell me?" John leaned forward.

"Do you want to know? You may hate me afterwards."

John hesitated for a few seconds. "Yes, yes I do. Nothing you say could ever make me hate you, Sherlock. Angry, sure. But I could never hate you."

"Well then. I'll start from the beginning. I got up to the roof top and Moriarty was there. That much you know. He started talking about how much I had disappointed him, and how he thought I was going to be his only worthy adversary. He then said that I had to jump, or he was going to kill Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and, well, you." John's face remained carefully blank. He knew this part.

"Moriarty killed himself right in front of me. Now, I either had to jump, or watch you die. I'm so, so sorry about how it happened John I really am. I called you, and asked you to stay where you were. This wasn't to benefit a plan, I just didn't want you to be any closer than you had to be. And then I jumped."

John looked confused. "But how did you survive? I felt your pulse, you just didn't have one, you were dead!"

"I'm afraid that there was no plan, John. You couldn't feel a pulse because I didn't have a pulse. I don't remember you even coming near me, because I wasn't alive, John, I'm sorry. I had to make sure you were safe, so I did what Moriarty asked. I died."

"No. No no no no no. You were actually dead?" John was trembling.

"I sustained five broken ribs, internal abdominal bleeding, and I broke six bones in my legs. I was dead for six minutes, but then I was resuscitated. I'm here, John, see?" Sherlock guided John's hand up to rest on his chest so he could feel his heart beating. "It takes more than a fall to kill me, John."

"You actually died for us. You actually died. Dead on a slab dead." it occurred to Sherlock that John might be in shock.

"Oh god I'm going to be sick!" John ran to the downstairs bathroom. Sherlock followed close behind and kneeled down next to were John was heaving up his dinner. He rubbed circles on his back and filled a glass of water from the cabinet.

"Here, drink this." Sherlock handed John the water and he wordlessly took it. Sherlock flushed the loo and helped John stand up.

"Are you angry?"

"No. I think you are the kindest man I have ever known." they walked back to the sofa.

"Do you wish you didn't know?"

"No, I'm glad. But if something like that ever happens again then you save yourself, Sherlock, I mean it."

"Don't say that, John, you're going to be a parent." Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Yeah. That's going to be amazing. And that's thanks to you. Oh my god you were actually dead!"

They both started crying now. Sherlock pulled John in for a hug and tried his best not to mourn the closeness that he would never have with the doctor in the way that he wanted. But he would quite literally die for this man rather than hurt their friendship.

At some point Sherlock fell asleep, so John lay a blanket over him and turned down the tv. Sherlock was gone before he woke up the next morning, so neither man mentioned it.

* * *

"Lestrade please, I have to work this case!" Sherlock was in the DI's office at nine o'clock in the morning.

"I told you I'll see what I can do! The people working on it have exhausted all of their leads though, they are about to call it a closed case. It's already been open for two months, I don't think even you will be able to solve it. She just disappeared while at the park with her parents. The cctv cameras haven't caught anything either. It's tragic, but that's just the way some cases go."

"Isabella Grayson is five years old. If she's not dead, which I know is likely at this point, then she must be terrified. They know I'm the best, so they have to let me take a look at it. She deserves that much at least."

"You actually know her name. Now that's surprising. I'll go now, just wait there." Lestrade left.

Sherlock twiddled his thumbs for about five minutes impatiently. When Lestrade came back he stood up so quickly that he felt the room spinning. "Can I have the case?"

"Yes. But only for five days. They think that keeping the case open for much longer is being cruel to the family. I agree with them. I really hope you don't find her body, mate. Good luck." Lestrade passed the case file over to Sherlock, who then ran out of the door without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Grayson?" Sherlock had gone straight to the parent's house. He decided he would make an effort in this particular case to be kind to the family.

"Yes, I am. If you are from the press then please have some human decency and leave us alone." the woman was around thirty-five, and wore a grey woollen jumper and cream skirt. She had bags under her eyes so big it looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

"No, I'm not from the press. I'm a detective, but not from the police. My name is Sherlock Holmes, you might have heard of me."

"Oh, you're that famous one. Come in, come in." Sherlock was led into the house. He went through a wide corridor and came into a kitchen where he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Ben! Come down here! There's a detective here to see us!" the woman shouted up to her husband.

"Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?" Mrs Grayson asked.

"Tea, if you don't mind. Thank you." Mr Grayson came in then. He was a tall man, maybe about six foot three, and had a beard.

"Oh god. It's bad news isn't it." Ben said.

"I'm not with the police. I don't know what has happened to your daughter, but I want to find out. I'm Sherlock Holmes, it's nice to meet you." Sherlock offered his hand to the man, who shook it.

"I went up to the Yard this morning to collect the file on your daughter's case. I haven't looked at it yet, because I want to talk to you first."

Mrs Grayson handed Sherlock a cup of tea and put the sugar bowl and a milk jug on the table. "We can't pay you. We already payed another private detective a couple of grand and he came up with nothing." (A/N: I'm not sure if you have the word grand in relation to money elsewhere in the world, but in the UK it means a thousand pounds.)

"I'm not a private detective, I'm a consulting detective. I don't ask for money. I just want to ask your permission to work this case first. The Yard is about to leave it as a cold case, and I only have five days with it. But I guarantee you that I'm your best bet, and I won't ask for anything in return." Sherlock sipped his tea.

"Why are you even asking us if you think you can solve it?" the mother asked.

"Because I don't know what I'll find. I'm so sorry, but at this point it is unlikely that your daughter is alive. The best case scenario is that I find Isabella, and return her to you safe and sound. In the worst case scenario, then I can offer you closure."

"What do you think Emily?" Ben asked his wife.

"Do it. Try and find her. If there is even the slightest chance that she is still alive then I want to do everything it takes to bring her home." the woman spoke with conviction.

"That's great. Now, I need you to tell me everything you remember about the day she went missing."

**A/N: What do you think about my theory of how Sherlock 'survived' the fall?**

**-Irena**


	8. Isabella Grayson

Emily and Ben Grayson were sitting at the table opposite Sherlock, clasping each others' hands. "We go to the park every Saturday. Isabella loves it there. Our routine never differed, we would take her to her drama club and then go to the park, often with her friends. That day we were with her friend Jasmine, who wasn't taken."

"I assume that you didn't notice anyone following you." Sherlock had his hands in his prayer position under his chin.

"No, no one." Emily answered.

"What was Isabella wearing on the day she was taken?"

"Black leggings and a t-shirt for her drama class. All of the kids wore them."

"So Jasmine wore the same thing?"

"Yes."

"May I ask, what does your daughter look like?" Sherlock asked. He made a conscious effort to keep his tenses present and not past.

"She has blonde hair and blue eyes. Last time we measured her she was at ninety-five centimetres, which is quite small for her age. She has always been a dainty little thing." Emily Grayson looked like her eyes might start tearing up.

"Why are you asking us this, Mr Holmes?" the question was simple enough, but the subtext was pressing. Did whoever it was who took her take her because she was pretty? And if so, why would she need to be?

"I'm just thinking of all of the possibilities. Do Jasmine and Isabella look similar? Not close up, but from their general complexion and hair colour?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Ben's look was wary.

Sherlock ignored the last question. "I think I'm done with my questions now, thank you. Could I please have both of your numbers so I can contact you if I need anything?"

"Yes, of course. I thought you would have needed to know more from us."

"Oh no, that was quite enough. I was just ruling out that you could have anything to do with it." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"That we could have something to do with it?! How dare you Mr Holmes! We loved our daughter!" Mr Grayson had colour rising in his cheeks at an alarming rate.

"I know. That is now obvious, I'm sorry for ever doubting you. I made the mistake a couple of years back to trust a couple who had also had their child kidnapped, which turned out to be a grave error that cost their son's life. They had sold him to a Japanese human trafficking ring in exchange for three million pounds. I vowed to always put the missing child before the family from then on."

"Good. I'm glad. Do you have absolutely everything you need to solve the case?" Emily asked. She seemed to be the wiser spouse.

"Yes. Please don't put too much of your hopes on this though, I am not a miracle worker, unfortunately. But I promise that I'll do the very best that I can."

* * *

"Do you have the sample, Dr. Watson?" Dr. Clarke asked.

"Ah, yes, here you go." John said, handing over a small plastic tub. John was sitting in the clinic's practise room they had been in last time. Mary wasn't there because she had to go up north to visit a sick relative.

"Now Mr Holmes, would you please sign here to say that you consent to having this procedure done." The doctor handed her patient the form on a clipboard and a pen. Sherlock signed it quickly in big overdramatic strokes that had made John raise his eyebrows the first time he saw it.

"Do you have any questions about the operation?"

"No. Actually, how painful will it be afterwards? And I mean honestly, not the reassuring crap they put online."

Dr Clarke chuckled and said, "It will hurt a bit, I'm not going to lie. I suggest that you take tomorrow easy, so just stay at home and try to avoid stairs. If the pain gets really bad then ask John to asses you. He'll be able to tell if something is wrong."

"Honestly, all of this gamete collection business is a lot more pleasurable for all you cisgender males." Sherlock joked. It earned him a smile from John and a twitching upper lip from the other doctor.

"Come with me, Sherlock. We are ready to start collecting the ova. Because of your hermaphroditism and your age we are expecting to collect ten eggs if we're lucky. If you were freezing them then that would be problematic, but I understand that you're going to have them implanted this time next week? That means that you won't lose any in the liquid nitrogen tank." she stood up.

"How many are you hoping to implant?" Sherlock and John stood up. Sherlock pulled the blue and white hospital gown he was wearing further down his legs.

"I want to try three. That means that you have a reasonable chance of conceiving, but if by some miracle you conceive all of them then it will be just on the fence of possibility to look after them, instead of impossible."

The three if them walked out of the room and into the hallway. "John, you can wait in the waiting room, or in your car if you are worried about being recognised. It's a simple procedure, so it should only take forty five minutes at the most."

"I'll wait in the waiting room."

"Okay then, see you soon."

Dr Clarke started walking away, but Sherlock stayed for a minute.

"Are you sure you want the child to have my DNA?" he asked.

"God yes. Come here." John pulled the detective into a hug.

"You are the best friend a guy could ask for. Thank you so much, Sherlock." John said into his mate's ear.

"If the kid starts breaking into crime scenes then don't blame me, okay?"

John huffed out a laugh.

"I don't mean to break up this lovely moment, but the appointment is scheduled for right now." the woman said.

"I'm coming. Bye John!" the detective walked away from his blogger, and through to the operating theatre. John stood there watching him go, and it was only then that he realised that the person he loved most in the world and the person he was married to were completely different people.

* * *

"Where's John?" were the first words Sherlock said after the anaesthetic wore off.

"I'm right here."

"How long have I been out?" the genius asked.

"Twenty minutes. Everything went according to plan." John smiled.

"Surgeries are weird. It feels like I've been unconscious for less than a second."

"Well that's normal, Sherlock."

"I hope that's what being dead is like."

John started at the unexpected statement. "What do you mean?"

"I have an immense fear of there being an afterlife. Not just hell, I mean I don't want there to be a heaven or paradise or whatever other nice plane of existence you can think of. I'd prefer that to hell, of course, but it terrifies me. Immortality. Imagine how bored you would get! You stay there for a millennium, and then guess what! You've got an infinite number of millennium after that. Time would become meaningless. It's terrifying, simply terrifying."

John had no idea what to say in response to that speech. It was an angle on death that he had never heard of before, and a rather strange one at that. He could see where the madman was coming from though.

"Guess how many eggs they got."

"Ooh, I don't know. Six."

"Twenty four."

Sherlock's eyes went wide. Twenty four! That was certainly more than anyone expected.

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Well they think because you've only had four periods in your lifetime that you've actually got dozens more eggs than the average woman your age. They asked if we want to freeze them. It will be a lot of money, but Mary is about to be promoted at the surgery so we should be getting more money in soon."

"Don't worry about the money. It's been taken care of already." Sherlock sat up in his hospital bed and ripped the blood pressure cuff off his upper arm.

"Sherlock, I can't ask you to pay for your treatment, that would be totally unreasonable. It could cost thousands."

"I know it would be totally unreasonable if you asked me. But I'm not paying it, Mycroft is." Sherlock pulled out an IV in his hand that made the doctor in John wince.

"Your brother?"

"No, the other person we know with parents that mean. Yes of course my brother."

"Why is he paying for it then?"

"He called it a present."

"I still can't accept it though, Sherlock. It would put a serious dent in Mycroft's bank account."

Sherlock laughed. "My brother's a multi-billionaire."

John's eyes went wide. "His government job pays that much?!"

"No. We have rich relatives and very large inheritances. My grand-mère had lots of properties across England and France, and when she died she left everything to us. Remember that hotel by the sea you went to for your honeymoon for free because I said the owner owed me a favour?"

"Yes, why?"

"I own it."

"But it's a fully functioning five star hotel with over twenty rooms! It's got two swimming pools, a gym, and a spa!"

"I gave it to an old client of mine in witness protection. She is an excellent businesswoman, the best I've ever met, and I said she could run it or hire someone else to run it as long as she gave ten percent of her earnings to charity."

"I know this woman don't I?" John asked.

"Yes, I believe you have an acquaintanceship." they both knew that they were talking about _The_ Woman.

"Was she there when Mary and I were there?"

"No, she wasn't there, I made sure of it. I believe she hired someone else to run it. I didn't expect her to actually do it herself, she'd get bored."

"Exactly how rich are you?" If anyone else asked this to a friend it would be incredibly rude, but the two men never had many personal boundaries. Sherlock didn't care enough to make it worth John's time to stick to them.

"I rent out the properties I own small enough to make it worth the tenant's money, but I kept the largest eight properties. I hire people to go into them once a month to check that everything is okay in there, and a gardener for the ones with gardens twice a year. There are two castles, one in Scotland and one in Northern Ireland, the French hotel, a French manor house, a beautiful country home in Devon, a place in Wales, a place in Herefordshire, and a place in Belgravia."

John looked stunned. "Oh my god. You have a place in Belgravia!? Where about is it?"

"Wilton Crescent."

"Why don't you live there?"

"It was too big and lonely for me. Plus Mycroft said I had to get a flat mate or live with him or he'd cut off my money. I had just gotten clean when you met me, and he has monitored most of my financial transactions since then. I rent the houses out cheaply, and give all the money I don't need to various charities."

"We can go home now. You're not allowed to drive so I'll drive you back to baker street. We can get a cup of coffee in Speedy's if you like."

"Yeah, I'd like that. Now help me up, I need to get dressed."


	9. Happy Families

"Lestrade, I want you to find Jasmine Whitley's family. Interview them. I've got a feeling that they've got a lot to do with the Grayson kidnapping." It was the day after the operation, and Sherlock was at home.

"What do they have to do with it?"

"I think that this wasn't just a random event, this was planned. I saw a photo of Isabella and Jasmine, and they both look just about similar enough to be confusable. The kidnapping was very discreet, which would have been very tricky considering there about thirty witnesses, and no-one saw anything."

"So you're saying the Whitley parents kidnapped her?"

"No, you imbecile!" Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "I think that the kidnappers meant to kidnap Jasmine, but instead got Isabella. Therefore, if you look into the Whitleys, you might find some illegal activity and hopefully some people they have a bad relationship with."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then "Okay. I'll get a warrant and bring them both in. Do you wanna come down here?"

"Sorry, I can't today."

"Seriously? But this is so your forte. Why not, you busy?" Lestrade spoke.

"No, I had a surgery last night."

"Oh my god Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Yes, what would make you think otherwise?" Sherlock said suspiciously.

"Well, first with the pills, then the injections, and now you saying you just had an operation! You once came down to a crime scene with a temperature of 39 degrees and a broken arm! It sounds like you're seriously ill!"

Sherlock pondered telling him, but then decided against it. Best not to over the phone. "You don't need to worry about me, Greg. I promise. I will tell you and Molly and some other close friends in just over three months, if I'm lucky."

"What happens in three months?"

"We'll see."

"Well that's not cryptic. Is there anything I can do?"

"You can send out good thoughts, or whatever other hippy stuff you like. And tell me everything you notice about the Whitleys. And if they seem even the tiniest bit defensive, then put their daughter and any other siblings in protective custody."

"Will do. Bye, Sherlock. Hope you feel better soon." the line clicked off. Sherlock went into the kitchen to get some ibuprofen, a hot water bottle, and a cup of tea. He then lay down on the sofa, and went into his mind palace for the next six hours.

When he came back, he had a text waiting for him on his phone. It read '_Parents being held in holding cell. They confessed to being part of a drug trafficking ring. People they work for think husband stole 10kg of cocaine. People storming warehouse now.'_

Sherlock called Lestrade. He answered after the third ring. "Hello?"

"What's happened? I was in my mind palace."

"A SWAT team was sent to a warehouse with dozens of people running a cocaine and meth lab. Everyone's in custody."

"And the little girl?"

"She's alive." Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"She won't talk though, a psychologist is with her, along with child protection services."

"Can I go and tell her parents?"

"Yes. It was all thanks to you that we solved this. It's already being called the biggest drug bust in the last decade."

"Take all credit then. I'll make sure John doesn't write about it. You did all the leg work, anyway."

"Thanks! This is probably going to get me a promotion. Finally I might be a detective chief inspector!"

"Goodbye, Lestrade. I'll see to it that the parents are made aware." He hanged up the phone, and got in a cab ten minutes later.

* * *

He knocked very quickly on the door until Ben Grayson answered. "What the hell is your proble- oh, hello Mr. Holmes, do come in."

"No. Get your wife."

Ben started trembling slightly. Sherlock was going to tell them they found their daughter alive, or dead.

"Emily!" Emily came outside with her husband.

"They found her, she's alive." Sherlock smiled at them. Despite the sociopathic mask he always wore, he always loved to see a family this happy and relieved.

Emily and Ben both burst out in happy tears. They hugged each other and then hugged Sherlock, which he found extremely awkward.

"Where is she? I have to see her, she'll be wanting her mother now."

"Come with me. I've got a cab just down the road."

Ben and Emily came with him, without even bothering to put on shoes. They got into the cab, and Sherlock said to the driver, "If you can get us to New Scotland Yard in under fifteen minutes, there's a one hundred pound tip coming your way."

"I've just got to text my detective friend that we're on our way." Sherlock spoke. As soon as he looked up from his phone he was bombarded by questions from both parents.

"How is she?"

"Did you catch whoever did this?"

Sherlock answered, "I don't know exactly how she is, but I know she doesn't have any injuries or the like. The kidnappers actually meant to take her friend Jasmine. Jasmine's parents are involved in drug trafficking, and Isabella was being kept at a warehouse with facilities to make cocaine and methamphetamine. Everyone is in custody." both parents gasped.

"I would have gone in with the SWAT team but I had a small operation last night."

"Are you okay Mr Holmes?"

"Yes, I'm fine now. And we're here."

The cab pulled up outside the glass windows of the NSY. Sherlock looked at his watch and payed the driver the agreed upon one hundred pounds through his credit card. The Graysons were already out of the car and walking towards the doors.

Sherlock caught up with them. "Let me show you the way."

A few people stared at the bare-footed parents. He lead them quickly through a few corridors, and then he rang the bell on a locked door. You had to have special permission to go through the doors where the children were.

Lestrade looked through the glass window and buzzed them in when he saw them.

"Hello, I'm detective inspector Lestrade, I believe we have already met. He held out a hand to shake. They both ignored it.

"Where is she?!" Emily demanded.

"Right this way." Sherlock followed after them. They came up to a soft toy play area. Sitting playing with a doll was Isabella.

"Oh my god, Izzy!" Emily's voice sounded tearful. She rushed up to her daughter and hugged her, sobbing now. The dad joined them a second later.

Sherlock and Lestrade turned away to give them some privacy. "You can go home if you want. You've done a great job and you shouldn't be up this soon after an operation."

"It was a very minor procedure, Graham. And the results were optimal. I'm fine." Sherlock smiled at the family.

"It's Greg. And please don't come to any more crime scenes if you don't feel up to it. I can drop things by your house if you like, or email and text-" Sherlock interrupted him.

"Good god, I'm not an invalid. Although now I think about it I do need to give myself another injection and I left it at home, so I'll be going now. Goodbye, and make sure that girl gets an appointment with a therapist, and soon."

"I'll see you soon." Greg said.

"You too."

* * *

"John, I want to tell my parents."

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. "Okay, that's fine. Do you mean now?"

"Yes, I want to tell them over the phone. I can't be bothered to go all of the way to their place. I just wanted to know if you are absolutely sure before I tell them."

"Yes, I am. Mary is too. Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye then." the phone call lasted all of one minute. He clicked on his maman's phone in contacts and waited.

"Sherlock, is that you love?"

"Yes, it's me. Can you put me on speakerphone and get dad. I have some news."

A rustling sounded through the speakers, and then his dad's voice. "What news is it?"

"I'm going to be an egg donor and surrogate for John and Mary so they can have a baby." the words were spoken very quickly, barely intelligable.

"Wow, that is news." his dad said.

"Are you sure Sherlock? Think of how bad the dysphoria will be. And you'll have to give up a little baby!" his maman said.

"I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions. And I've been thinking about this for months. I'm certain. The embryo is being implanted in six days."

"Do you want us to come down and be with you?" his dad spoke.

"No, it's fine. I'm going to bed now. Goodnight, dad. Bonne nuit, maman." the French rolled off his tongue as easily as English.

"Bonne nuit à toi aussi, mon amour. Fais de beaux rêves." _Good night to you too, my love. Sweet dreams._ She hanged up. Sherlock felt relief that they took it well. He went to bed and fell asleep within ten minutes.


	10. Results

_May 21st_

"Well then, are you ready?" Dr Clarke asked. Today was the big day.

"Yep."

"So please sign here to say that you are okay with us implanting three embryos, and again at the bottom to say you understand that we cannot guarantee that one will attach." Sherlock did as instructed.

"That's perfect. Now I want to encourage you to have one last conversation with John and Mary, preferably separately, before we go in. Is that okay?"

"Okay sure."

"John, come wait outside with me." John stood up from his chair and went outside with the other doctor.

When they were gone, Mary went up to Sherlock where he sat on the bed. "Now tell me Sherlock, are you sure? Because you're always going on about how your body is 'just transport' but we both know that isn't true, especially for you. If you are even the slightest bit uncertain then we stop. We won't be angry or upset, I promise."

Sherlock smiled at her. "I'm sure Mary. Are you?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I can't give John children, and I'm obviously upset about that, but it doesn't mean we can't be parents. I love you so much Sherlock, and I know John does too. I'm going to go and let you talk to John now. See you soon!" she patted him on the shoulder and walked out. John came in a second later.

He walked up to the bed where Sherlock was now standing up, and hugged him. They had only hugged a few times in their friendship, and this was one of the best.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

John let out a snort against Sherlock's chest.

"What is it?" the detective asked.

"You could be pregnant by dinner time."

They both fell into a fit of unmanly giggles at how absurd that sounded. Sherlock, pregnant?

"I should probably go. And John?" Sherlock spoke. From the way he said it one would assume he was about to say something important and memorable.

"Yes?"

"Umm, well, uhh, could you get me an Indian takeaway? I've been fancying one all day. My usual order please." he backed out of what he wanted to say at the last minute.

"Of course mate. Of course." the two men stared at each other for a long moment.

"Sherlock, come with me." Sherlock followed the doctor out of the room, and went with Dr Clarke into the same room he was in last week for the egg collecting.

"Is your bladder full?" she asked. A lab technician was also in there looking at some slides on a microscope.

"Yes. I assume I lay down?" the doctor nodded.

"I'll insert the three best embryos with this catheter, you can see it on the ultrasound here." She clicked a button on her computer and the screen flashed to life. The doctor then squirted some ultrasound jelly on his lower stomach, which was completely bruised from all the hormone injections. She moved the wand over his skin and the confusing grey lines on the ultrasound morphed into something that looked vaguely similar to his insides.

"This is your last chance to say no. If you conceive then you'll have to follow through for the next nine months."

"I know. I've had months to think about it, I know what I'm getting in to."

"Okay then. Lay back and relax, this shouldn't hurt." Sherlock watched the lab technician pass over the embryos to Dr Clarke.

"Watch the screen, not me." she said.

He felt the end of the catheter go in and saw a white stick thing go inside him on the screen. A few seconds later the doctor said, "All done."

"Already?"

"Yes. I told you it wouldn't hurt. You can go and change back into your clothes now and be on your way. Don't forget the progesterone, I've given you enough for two weeks there. You can inject that stuff into your arms as well so that should be easier pain-wise. After twelve days you need to come back and we will do a blood pregnancy test. Don't take any home pregnancy tests, because they probably won't give you an accurate reading. I'm sorry but I've got to go now, there's another patient waiting. Good luck, Sherlock." she walked out quickly, clipboard in hand.

* * *

_June 2nd_

_Twelve days later_

"Roll up your sleeve." Nervous anticipation crawled along his skin. He sat in the clinic without Mary or John. The twelve day wait had been a lot harder than he thought it would be. He rolled up his sleeve up to his bicep and felt a wave of regret when he saw the track marks scattering his veins.

She wiped the skin with a wipe and prepared the needle. "Any bloating, nausea?"

"No. You don't need to distract me, just do it." she shook her head at him seeing through her tricks. The doctor pushed the needle in and drew two vials of blood into white-capped bottles. Next she gave Sherlock a cotton ball to hold over the pinprick.

"I will try and find out the results today for you. If I do, I will call you at about four thirty. Until then try not to worry too much."

"Thank you doctor. When do I see you again?"

"In two days, regardless of the results. And call me Jenny."

* * *

_June 2nd_

_Four thirty_

"But John look! The finger prints are facing away from the body!" John, Sherlock, and Lestrade stood in the newly appointed detective chief inspector's office. Sherlock's phone rang, his ringtone Handel's Messiah.

"Sorry, I've got to take this. It's... John it's Dr Clarke."

"Does she have the results of the... you know." John censored his words because of Lestrade.

"Yes." he accepted the call.

"Hello, is that you Sherlock?" she enquired.

"Yes it's me. What's the result." his heart was beating as loudly as gunfire in his chest.

"Congratulations. The result came back positive. We will take another test in a few days to make sure but I am fairly confident you are pregnant. I'll leave you to call the Watsons now, bye!"

"Thank you Jenny. Goodbye." he schooled his expression to look blank.

"Well?! What did she say?!"

"What is the result for? Can someone tell me what's going please?!" Lestrade looked a bit annoyed for being left out.

"It came back... well we got the result we wanted." Sherlock smiled widely and rested a hand on his belly.

"You are...?" John spoke.

"Yes. Yes I am." Sherlock said.

John's eyes welled up with happy tears and wrapped the detective in a crushing embrace. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. That's amazing! This is actually happening!"

"What's actually happening? Will someone tell me please?" Lestrade looked more and more confused.

"Can't tell you yet, sorry. But come here anyway, we're celebrating!" John hugged Lestrade now.

"Let's go to a restaurant and celebrate. You in Greg?" John asked.

"Um... sure! Why not go to a restaurant and celebrate something I'm not allowed to know."

"John, you should tell Mary now." Sherlock said.

"Oh god, Mary! Yes, right, I'll call her now." John had seemingly forgotten about his wife for a moment.

"I'll book a table for four at Angelo's. I assume you like italian Graham?"

"Yes, italian's great. Please say you're going to tell me eventually though."

"I will. I promise. Just not yet. In about ten weeks."

"Well then. I need to get back to work, you two do whatever you like."

"Thanks Lestrade. Be at Angelo's at seven on Sunday night."

* * *

_Sunday, 4th of June_

_Seven o'clock_

"I'll have the lasagne. And could we get a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc for the table." John ordered.

"Of course, sir. Will that be all?" the waiter with the fake Italian accent asked.

"Yes, that's everything. Thank you."

Until the starters came out they made useless conversation about miscellaneous topics. When Angelo brought round the bottle of wine, Greg looked at him oddly when he said he wouldn't be drinking.

"But I thought you wanted to celebrate the mystery thing I'm not allowed to know about. Come on Sherlock, don't be a prude." he waved his glass at him.

"Me, a prude? Seriously? I can't drink alcohol at the moment. That's all. You enjoy your posh wine, I enjoy my children's menu apple juice."

The group had ordered two starters for everyone to share, garlic bread and cheesy garlic bread. Within minutes Sherlock had eaten the entire cheesy one himself, making Greg, Mary, and John stared.

"What?" he said, mouth full. "I'm really hungry."

For the main course, Sherlock ordered a ham pizza, John a lasagne, Mary a salad, and Greg a pizza topped with an egg. They all started eating, but Sherlock had something else on his mind.

"Why did you order the egg pizza?" he said, voice low and a bit dangerous.

"Because I like an egg on a pizza," Greg answered.

Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose and turned very pale.

"Are you alright Sherlock?" John asked.

As a way of answering Sherlock abruptly stood up from the table and ran to the bathroom. He knocked a chair over in the process making most of the restaurant stare after him. John got up and followed him wordlessly to make sure he was okay.

In the bathroom, Sherlock had run into the nearest stall and fell to his knees. As soon as he did so he heaved and vomited up a lot of apple juice, a few bites of pizza, and a plate of garlic bread into the basin. John came in behind him and rubbed circles onto his back.

When he was done heaving, Sherlock leant back against John's chest in exhaustion. John pulled some toilet paper out and handed it to Sherlock so he could wipe his face off.

"Has this happened before?" he asked gently. Sherlock flushed the toilet.

"No. I assume this is morning sickness?" Sherlock's voice was raspy.

"Was it brought on by the smell of Greg's egg?"

"Yeah."

"Then yes, that was most likely morning sickness. You've started having it very early though, it doesn't usually happen until the fourth week of pregnancy at the earliest. You were implanted exactly two weeks ago, which means you've probably only been pregnant ten or eleven days."

"Great. Now help me stand up." John put one of his hands under Sherlock's armpit and the other on his forearm. He helped him pull himself up and over to the sinks. Sherlock cupped some water in his hands and drank from it, then spat it back out.

"Do you want me to go and ask Angelo to box up your pizza to have at home?"

"Yes, please. Also, tell Grayson some excuse about me not feeling well." Sherlock splashed more water on his face.

"That's probably quite apparent to him already, it doesn't take a genius to know you just threw up. Mary and I will come back with you to Baker Street. And you should start making a list of all the things that make you sick."

"Will do. I'll be out in a minute. Thank you, John."

"No problem. No problem at all."


	11. Hyperemesis Gravidarum

**TW: Mention of Anorexia Nervosa. **

_Two weeks later_

_day twenty-eight of pregnancy_

_Thursday, June 18th_

He heaved into the toilet bowl. This was the fourteenth time in as many days Sherlock had woken up with the need to vomit. The food he had eaten last night swirled around the basin producing a putrid smell that just made him more and more nauseous. He flushed the toilet and washed his mouth out with tap water.

Next, he took off his clothes until he was only wearing his underwear. Sherlock pulled out the electric set of scales from behind the washing basket and placed them on the black and white tiles. He stepped on them and waited for a few moments for it to calculate his weight. It read 65 kilograms.

Sherlock knew this was underweight. He was six foot two, and the healthy weight ranges for that height was 65.4 to 88.4 kilos. And it should be more anyway because of the pregnancy.

Since the first time he vomited because of Lestrade's egg he hadn't been able to keep much down. The list of triggers he started in the moleskine notebook grew until it took up four pages, and at that point he just wrote down 'all smells, all food,' as triggers for the morning sickness.

He went into his bedroom and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Sherlock had bought ten of each last week, feeling far too uncomfortable for his usual suits.

Next he pulled out his notebook. He had documented every single change in his body, no matter how minute, for months now. Four months ago he weighed 62 kilograms, which was underweight. He had then worked hard to gain 10 kilograms taking him to a healthy 72. Over the past two weeks he had lost an average of one kilo every two days without trying.

Sherlock thought that it was better to be safe than sorry, so he called John.

"Hi Sherlock, are you alright?" he sounded happy.

"Not really. I've got really bad morning sickness. In the past twenty-four hours I don't think I've managed to keep anything down, solid or liquid."

"Jesus. I'm coming over now, stay where you are. I want to check you out, make sure there's nothing seriously wrong. Have you lost weight?" the happy tone was gone.

"Seven kilos in the past two weeks. I'm underweight."

"Okay, that's bad. I want you to stay away from the stairs, I'll let myself in. Go and try to drink something now. I'm getting into a cab, will you be fine until I get there?"

"Yes. I've tried crackers and sipping water and even some hippy stuff online, nothing's worked."

"Just hold on. I'm going to hang up now, if you need anything ask Mrs Hudson to get it for you. Bye."

"Goodbye, John." he hanged up.

Sherlock went up to the kitchen and opened the tin with the crackers. He took two plain ones out and went back to the sofa. Once sitting he took the tiniest bite out of the corner of one of them. The detective chewed it, swishing it around his mouth and trying not to gag.

He managed to finish the whole of the first one before giving up. The nausea was now so bad he had to close his eyes to keep from throwing up. Sherlock lasted about a minute before giving up and running to the bathroom to empty his stomach of the cracker and some bile.

"Sherlock!" he heard. The man stood up swaying slightly, and walked out of the bathroom. John was outside looking for him.

"Oh there you are. Shit you look bad. Here, let me help you." John wrapped his arm around the detective's waist and helped him over onto the couch.

"I brought you some intravenous ondansetron to help with the nausea. It's used to treat cancer patients going through chemo or radio therapy, but it can also help in extreme morning sickness. Give me your arm." Sherlock gave him his arm. John took out a small bottle of the drug and emptied it into a syringe. The doctor then stuck it into his arm.

"My notebook's there. It has every measurement I have taken. Should be useful." Sherlock pointed at the far end of the sofa. John reached over and picked it up. He flicked through and frowned at some of the numbers.

"I want to check your blood pressure. If it's low then I'm taking you to hospital." John's tone repelled an argument.

Sherlock gave John his arm again as the doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a blood pressure cuff. "Take me to Dr Clarke instead. She knows about me, and it would take a while to convince the hospital staff I'm pregnant. I once had a doctor who wouldn't treat me until he did a physical examination of my genitalia. There are no laws against it."

"Oh my god, seriously?" John tightened the cuff around Sherlock's bicep.

"Yes. You'd be surprised on how little rights we have. I want to talk about it to the media when I come out, you know, raise awareness."

"Bloody hell your blood pressure's super low!" John shouted.

"I am probably dehydrated. I have been feeling nauseas for the past three days solidly, when will the drugs kick in?" Sherlock looked very pale.

"Soon. I'm calling Dr Clarke. You can stay here but I want to have an IV set up so you can get some fluids in you. Have you seen any blood in you urine?"

"No. Did I do something wrong? I didn't mean to, I promise. I'm sure I did everything right. Is the baby okay?" Sherlock started looking panicked.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think you have got a type of extreme morning sickness called Hyperemesis Gravidarum. It shouldn't hurt the baby if treated right." John lay a reassuring hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I haven't managed to keep anything down for a while either. Will that hurt baby Watson?"

"Honestly, it might. I'll tell Dr Clarke to bring a feeding tube, that might make it easier to keep stuff down. Are you okay with that?" John pulled out his phone.

"Yes, that's okay. I've had feeding tubes before."

"Hello, this is John Watson. Yes, that's right. Would you be able to bring round some IV fluids and everything needed for a feeding tube, Sherlock's got Hyperemesis Gravidarum. Yes, I am a doctor. His blood pressure's 68/37. Thank you." John hanged up the phone.

"She's coming?"

"Yes. You should really be in hospital, but we can treat you at home. Do you think you can drink something now?"

The thought of drinking or eating anything right now made Sherlock physically gag. John took that to mean no.

* * *

_One hour later_

The doorbell rang. Sherlock was lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, asleep now nausea had finally died down slightly because of the injection. John went downstairs and helped Dr Clarke with the stuff she was carrying.

John went up to the detective's side and gently shook him. "Sherlock. Jenny's here. Wake up."

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. "Come to stick me with needles?"

"Yes, Mr Holmes. You can stay there while I do the IV, but I need you to sit up for the tube. It will be this needle attached to the liquid in this bag, see? It needs to stay attached to the pole."

"I'm not an imbecile. I know how IVs work." Sherlock spoke. He turned his head to face the back of the sofa while she put in the drip. He wasn't normally squeamish, but it sure wouldn't help his nausea.

"All done. Now I've got to go now, but John can do the next bit for you. If you don't feel up to your appointment tomorrow I'll come round here after my shift. Go to the hospital if you throw up what the feeding tube gives you. Bye Sherlock, I hope you start feeling better soon."

"Bye Jenny. Thanks for this." Sherlock said.

"I'll show you out." John offered. They walked out the door while Sherlock sat on the sofa and stared at the drip in the IV stand. John came back a moment later.

"I'm going to go wash my hands and put on some gloves." John went into the kitchen. Sherlock felt a bit nervous when he came back.

"You've had this done before, did you say?"

"Off and on from age thirteen to six months before you met me."

"May I ask why?"

Sherlock hesitated. "Anorexia Nervosa."

John stopped preparing the equipment. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I know I don't look like it anymore. It used to always be either drugs or starving myself. Don't worry, I have been clean of anorexia and mostly clean of illegal substances ever since I met you."

"God hasn't been kind to you has He?" John attempted a joke.

"No, he hasn't. Hurry up with the tube now, I don't have all day." Sherlock shuffled forward to the edge of the sofa.

"Tilt your head back..." John dished out instructions to Sherlock who promptly obeyed. Twenty minutes later John was finished, and he taped the end of the tube to Sherlock's cheek.

"All done. Is it uncomfortable?"

"No more than it usually is."

"Good. Feel nauseous?"

"A bit." Sherlock felt the tube rub against the back of his throat.

"I'm going to hang this bag of food on the IV stand. If you ever feel that you can eat something, then do, but I want to keep you on this until you have gained at least five kilos and no longer feel nauseous. It may take until the second trimester, is that okay?"

"Yes, that's fine. I once had one in for six months, it's nothing I can't handle. I know how to prepare the food as well, so you don't need to worry."

"That's good. I'm connecting it now, tell me if something feels wrong." John clipped the tube dangling behind his ear to the bag full of a yellow-white liquid. A few seconds later he felt the slightly uncomfortable feeling of it draining into his stomach.

"It feels normal. You should go back to the clinic, I know you've got that Sarah woman covering your shift."

"Are you sure you're alright?" John stood up.

"Yes, I'm fine. If anything bad happens I'll call 999."

"Well bye then. I'll drop by after my shift with the formula to make the food. See you then." John put on his coat.

"Goodbye. I'm going to start composing a sonata, I'll show you what I've got when you come back." Sherlock stood up and pulled the IV pole with him to the other side of the room where his violin was.

"You do that. See you later." John left baker street to the sound of Sherlock's violin.

**A/N: Excuse any medical inaccuracies, I am not a doctor.**


	12. Mrs Hudson

_Monday, June 22nd_

_Day thirty-two of pregnancy_

Sherlock paid the driver and got out of the cab. He had only just left the house after staying in and resting since the Thursday before. The detective turned his collar up to try to hide the tube coming out of his left nostril. It was stuck to his face with white surgical tape and Sherlock had it tucked over his ear. At the end of it was a dark blue external connecter that clipped onto another tube which the food came down.

As he walked in he was immediately recognised by security and allowed upstairs. People always recognised him when he walked into the Yard; Sherlock had earned himself quite a reputation over the years. This time though, people openly stared at him like he was some specimen to gawp at.

Detective inspector Dimmock got into the lift with him. He looked surprised to see the tube coming out of his face, and seemed to be at war with himself over whether or not he should say something to Sherlock. The consultant decided for him by saying, "Yes, I have a tube coming out of my nose. Yes, this is new. No, I'm not going to tell you what it's for. No, I'm not dying. Does that answer all of your questions?"

Dimmock looked uncomfortable for a minute, scrambling for a good response. The doors opened before he could think of one though, and Sherlock walked out.

He made his way through the open-planned offices until he came to Lestrade's glass door. He stepped inside without knocking and sat down opposite him.

"For the last time Anna, I do _not_ forgive you and we are _not_ getting back together! What...no... I'm sorry I'm going to have to call you back." Lestrade pressed his phone screen then turned it face down on the desk. His eyes went up to Sherlock's face and then immediately scrunched up with worry.

"Are you really not going to tell me what's going on?"

"If everything goes according to plan then I will tell you on the 13th of August, and not a day earlier."

"You're not dying are you? I know the other day you said that you got the result you wanted or something from the doctor, but you look awful. You've lost weight and you've got a tube down your nose! What's that for by the way?"

"Ever since that meal we went on together I haven't been able to keep much food down. I lost a lot of weight, like you noticed, and so now this thing is hopefully going to help me gain back some weight." Sherlock fiddled with the tube.

"Does that thing hurt?"

"Not at the moment. It can hurt a bit when it's actually connected to something, but obviously it's not right now. By the end of the week I might have a few blisters which wont be pleasant, but it's worth it. And I'm not dying. I'm not even sick."

"What do you mean you're not even sick?! If it's not drugs and it's not an illness then what the hell could it be? Not that bloody eating disorder again, is it?" Greg looked really confused.

"No, not that bloody eating disorder. What's going on with me is a great thing. If you can guess what it is I'll confirm it, but I guarantee that you can't guess what it is. If you do I will give you a hundred quid."

"Seriously?"

"Yep." Sherlock swung his feet up onto the desk. "I want a case. Nothing dangerous though. If you wouldn't put a child on it, then don't put me on it."

"Since when did you care about personal safety? Or any safety?" Lestrade's eyes just kept on getting wider.

"Since thirty-two days ago. Do you have anything for me?" the consultant had his hands interlaced over his stomach. You couldn't see anything now, but in ten weeks time there would surely be a small bump there.

"We've got a robbery."

"Tell me all about it."

* * *

"John!" Sherlock yelled. He had gotten back from the yard half an hour earlier.

John ran through the doorway from the kitchen. "What is? Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

"What? No! Why would you do that?" Sherlock was sitting on his armchair with a sheet music pad on his lap.

"Because you just yelled my name like the sky was falling down! What's wrong?"

"I think we should tell Mrs Hudson I'm pregnant. I know it's early days, but she's really worried, I can see it written all over her. She's bringing me cups of tea every hour and chatting to me and holding my hand and saying that if I ever need to talk to someone then she's there for me. It's awful, John. Awful!"

"I'm sure it is. What if you have a miscarriage though, it's always risky in the first trimester. And even more so if you're intersex. If you tell her you're pregnant and then the baby -god forbid- dies, then that could kill her, Sherlock."

"It's killing her seeing me sick! Having a feeding tube down my nose makes me look really ill, and it's making her stressed. Every single test Dr Clarke has done has come back fine, and I am doing literally everything right."

John hesitated, then let out a big sigh. "Okay. Tell her, but if something bad happens it's on your head."

"I know. Can I go tell her now?"

"Yes, why not. Do you want me to do it with you?"

Sherlock stood up. "No. I think it would be easier to try to explain this to her by myself. If you come down too then she might get it in her head that we're having the baby together, and she already thinks we're a couple. We wouldn't want that now, would we?" Sherlock said it jokingly, but he wished it was true.

"No. Mary wouldn't appreciate that. Go tell her then. Good luck!"

Sherlock made his way downstairs. He knocked on the door to 221A and let himself in when he heard Mrs Hudson say "Come in!"

"Oh hello, Sherlock. How are you feeling?" Mrs Hudson was doing a crossword in the Times newspaper.

"I'm good Mrs H. How are you?" he ducked his head to give her a kiss on the cheek and sat himself opposite her.

"I'm good, love. Do you need something? Or have you just come for a little chat?" She shut the newspaper and put it to one side.

"I have something very important to tell you. It's not bad news, I promise. In fact it's the very best."

"Well do tell me."

Sherlock tried to figure out how to start. "Do you know what a hermaphrodite is?"

"Isn't that someone who's a bit half and half between genders?" She pulled her purple cardigan closer to her. It was always drafty in this flat.

"Kind of. A hermaphrodite is someone who has both male and female reproductive organs. So like a woman with a testicle, or a man with an ovary."

"Why are you telling me this Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson sipped her tea.

"Because I am one. A hermaphrodite, that is. I have a complete female reproductive system." Sherlock felt a bit uncomfortable talking about this with the eighty-something year old.

"Really?"

"Yes. I used to take testosterone pills to make sure my body didn't become female-looking. I don't anymore though."

"Why is that?" it was going well so far.

"I'm pregnant."

Stunned silence followed.

"You're pulling my leg." Mrs Hudson accused.

"No. I'm thirty-two days pregnant. I'm a surrogate for Mary and John. Mary can't have kids, so I offered to carry their child."

"So you're pregnant."

"Yes."

"And you are a man."

"Yes."

"But you're not keeping the child."

"No."

"So you're giving up a little baby?"

"Yes." Sherlock felt a wave of sadness at the thought of giving up the life growing inside of him.

"Come here my boy." Mrs Hudson stood up and came round to Sherlock. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew him into her chest.

"I got really bad morning sickness called hyperemesis gravidarum -or just HG- which is why I need the tube. I'm not sick."

"I definitely didn't expect this."

Sherlock chuckled. "You don't think any less of me?"

"I think more of you. You are so selfless for doing this, love. John and Mary are very lucky to have you as a friend."

"This is the hardest thing I've ever done." and it was. He already felt himself starting to bond with the child inside of him, and that bond would only get stronger. He thought he could keep his feelings separate, his body was just transport after all.

"I will always be there for you throughout all of this. I must get started on some knitting, do you know if the baby is a boy or a girl?"

"We won't know for another few months, I'm afraid."

"That's okay, I'll knit in colours like green, yellow, and white. When's your due date?"

"February fifteenth."

"I will have plenty of clothes and toys for the baby by then. Why don't you go upstairs and have a lie down, you've been up for a long time. I'll bring you up some tea in a minute, love."

"Okay, Mrs Hudson. Bye bye." Sherlock headed upstairs. He opened the door to 221B and saw John now sitting in his armchair.

"How did she take it?" John asked.

"Well. She's going to start knitting some baby clothes now."

John chuckled. "Figures. I'm going home, anything you need?"

"No thank you, I'm good." John left, and Sherlock wondered how on earth he was going to be strong enough to give up his child.


	13. Ultrasound

_Wednesday, June 24th_

_Day thirty-four of pregnancy_

"Wow, that didn't take very long." Sherlock said to John. They sat at home in companionable silence, both reading newspapers.

"What didn't take very long?" John asked.

Sherlock held up the newspaper, which showed a picture of himself coming out of New Scotland Yard with his collar turned up. A red arrow pointed at the tube coming out of his nose. The title read 'Is Sherlock Holmes Sick?'

"Ah. They were bound to take an interest in it at some point. What does the article say?"

Sherlock skimmed the page. "It says Sherlock Holmes was seen outside of NSY with a nasogastric tube, then it waffles on about what a nasogastric tube actually is, then some speculation about my weight loss, then some words of concern."

"What do you want to do about it?" the doctor asked.

"How about you write a short paragraph on your blog saying I'm fine, and then leave it at that until we tell them what's really going on."

"Okay. I'll get to work on it. Can I borrow your laptop?"

"Sure." The detective passed over the laptop he was partially sitting on. "Here you go. The password is ex59sabny%-."

"Of course it is." John got to work typing up the next page of his blog. He hadn't updated it in a while because Sherlock hadn't been taking as many cases. It only took John fifteen minutes to get the draft done.

"What I've got is, 'Many of you will have seen the news article regarding the feeding tube Sherlock was seen with. You don't need to worry, he is not dying or seriously ill. At the moment I cannot reveal why he has it, but if all goes to plan it will be gone within the next few months. Please do not speculate about what is going on with him, it is nobody's business but his own.'"

Sherlock pondered it. "Yes, I like that. Post it, make the media seem nosy."

"Okay, I'm posting it now." John uploaded it.

Five minutes later, Sherlock asked, "How many views?"

John checked the counter and saw that it had a fifteen-thousand view increase since before the latest post went up.

"Fifteen-thousand views in the last five minutes. That's more than I usually get in twenty-four hours!"

"Wow. People really must have nothing better to do in their lives."

"Don't be rude. They're just concerned. It's not every day they see a celebrity with a piece of medical equipment they might have only seen on tv. I've already got one-hundred and fifty comments!"

"What do they say?" Sherlock fiddled with the tube.

"Many of them say stuff along the lines of 'I hope you get better soon', some other ones say 'Does it hurt?', and a couple say that your faking it for attention."

"Why would I fake something this gross for attention? How juvenile do they think I am?"

"I don't know mate. All of those comments are anonymous. I hate it when people on the internet hide behind their anonymity and say cruel things."

Sherlock scowled. "Is it okay if I go to sleep?"

"Are you sure you want to? It's only three o'clock."

"This whole being pregnant thing is a lot more exhausting than it looks. I could sleep for days, John. Days!" Sherlock brushed his hand against his forehead dramatically.

"Then go to sleep. If you wake up at silly o'clock in the morning it's not my fault though."

"I know. Goodnight, John." Sherlock turned laid down on the sofa and turned his body towards the wall.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

* * *

_Three weeks later_

_Thursday, 16th of July_

_Day fifty-six of pregnancy_

Sherlock stood in front of the mirror. He wore just a pair of navy boxer shorts. His dressing gown lay on the floor.

Last night when he was lying in bed he placed his hand over his lower belly and felt a small bump that had not been there before. He was too tired to get out of bed at the time to go to the bathroom and examine it more closely, so he promised himself he would look first thing in the morning.

He turned sideways so he could see the shape of his stomach in the mirror. Sure enough, a small bump protruded out of his lower abdomen.

Sherlock ran his hand over it and felt an indiscernible emotion settle at the back of his throat. After a few minutes of simply standing there and staring Sherlock got out his tape measure from the cabinet below the sink. He wrapped it around himself and saw that he had only grown by three inches, so people would be unlikely to notice it.

Rather than bother Mary and John with the news of a barely-there bump, Sherlock went back to his room and got dressed. It wouldn't be his baby anyway, so there was no use getting excited over it.

* * *

_One week later_

_Thursday 23rd of July_

_day sixty-three of pregnancy_

Today they were going to get the first clear ultrasound picture. It was the start of week nine, meaning the baby was about the size of a cherry. Sherlock sat on the bed next to the monitor and stared at the model of a pregnant lady's uterus across the room. John and Mary sat together on chairs pulled up to next to the bed.

"Are you all ready?" Jenny asked.

"We can't wait to see them." John said.

"What about you, Sherlock? Are you ready?"

He almost didn't want to see the child. Once he saw them then surely the pain of knowing he had to give them up would just get worse? He couldn't let anyone know he felt that way, though. "I'm ready."

"Pull your t-shirt up and undo you fly." Dr Clarke ordered. Sherlock did as told and wrapped his palms around the hand rests.

Jennifer got out the tube of ultrasound jelly and squeezed some onto the end of the wand. She then placed it onto his lower, slightly distended abdomen. Sherlock didn't flinch at the cold.

The monochromatic wavy lines crossing the screen morphed. Sherlock tried to make sense of them, with no luck.

"Oh my god." John said. Sherlock looked over and saw he had tears in his eyes.

"That's our baby." Mary whispered.

"Where? I can't see her, where is she?" Sherlock sounded panicked. Everyone in that room knew how to read ultrasounds except for him.

Jenny moved the wand slightly and then paused the screen. She pointed at a little white blob in the centre-right of the screen. "Just there, see? That's their head, and then the legs are curled round under it. Do you see?"

Sherlock did see. The cold hard pain of the fact that he would be giving up the baby in a few short months manifested into an ache in his chest worse than ten broken ribs. "I see her."

"You do know that they might not be a girl?" Dr Clarke asked.

"No, she will. I've got a feeling."

"Can we have a copy of the ultrasound?" John asked.

"Yes, of course. I'll send it to the printer now."

Sherlock hesitated a moment, but then said, "May I have one too? You know, for the notebook."

"Of course, Sherlock. Do you want to hear the heart beat?"

"Yes, we'd love to." Mary answered for them all.

The doctor got a different instrument out and guided it over his bump. A very fast, whirring heartbeat echoed in the otherwise silent room.

* * *

When Sherlock got home he ran into his bedroom with the picture of his -no, Mary and John's- baby. He switched on the bedside table light and shut the door.

The detective sat on his bed. He brought his knees up to his chest and held the photo in shaking fingers. Sherlock's heart He could see his child's head and the rough shape of their legs amongst the dark lines, and his heart ached. He never imagined that he would feel this way towards the unborn cherry-sized child occupying his womb.

In around thirty-one weeks he would either give birth or have a cesarean, and then Sherlock would have to hand over the life form he created. Then he would have to watch the child grow up in another family, and get called 'Uncle Sherlock'. He would miss everything a parent has a right to witness, like first words, first steps, first school play.

All he would ever be to his biological child would be the eccentric, funny-looking man best friends with their dad.

He hoped the boy or girl didn't look like him. That would make it harder for Sherlock to watch. A young girl with curly, raven-black hair down to her waist comes to mind. When he was five that was what he looked like, until he shouted at his maman that he was definitely a boy, not a girl. He got his first hair cut that day.

Sherlock wondered what the child's name would be. If he had to decide it would be something french, like Odette and Camille for girls, or Alexandre and Mathieu for boys. John and Mary would probably want to call their child something plain and English like Lucy or Benjamin. Something he would hate.

It wouldn't matter though, because he or she isn't his child. They're Mary and John's, who would make better parents than he would ever be. And Sherlock would just have to except that.

**A/N: Comments mean the world to me! **


	14. Lestrade and Molly

**TW: Conversation about past rape (sex under the influence of cocaine). **

_Twelve weeks/eighty-four days pregnant_

_End of first trimester_

_Thursday, 13th of August_

Sherlock was wearing one of his best suits. He wore it with a dark blue shirt that brought out his eyes and accentuated his slim figure. He had finally left the first trimester behind along with the morning sickness and cravings. Thanks to the feeding tube he had gained back all fifteen lost pounds, so he had it removed the day before.

Today, Sherlock, John, and Mary were going to tell Lestrade and Molly about the pregnancy. They (John) had prepared a roast dinner and apple crumble for the event. While they were eating Sherlock was going to tell them all about his intersexuality, and then his decision to be a surrogate.

The door knocked. "I'll get it!" Mary said. She ran downstairs and greeted the guests. From the sound of it, Greg and Molly had arrived together.

"Are you ready?" John asked him. They both sat at the table, Sherlock at the head and John next to him.

"Yes. I think they will be excepting of me." In truth, Sherlock was mildly terrified.

"If they're not then I'll never speak to them again. You can still back out, when you start to get big you can just go up to your castle in Scotland and hide out there until the baby's born."

"Never. I hate Scotland. And besides, I'm still coming out publicly."

Mary entered the kitchen followed by Greg and Molly. "Please take a seat."

"Good evening Lestrade, Molly." Sherlock formally greeted.

"It's great to see you, Sherlock. Are you finally going to stop being mysterious and tell us what's going on with you?" Greg got straight to the point.

"In a minute. We might as well start eating; everything's already on the table. Help yourselves." Sherlock dodged the conversation for a minute. Sherlock remained sitting at the head of table, with John and Mary sitting opposite each other on Sherlock's sides. They helped themselves to the food and began making small talk for a few minutes.

"We do have something to tell you all, that's why we invited you. Sherlock, do you want to start?" John spoke up.

Sherlock took a deep breath in. "I need to, well, come out to you."

"We support you, Sherlock. It doesn't matter to us if you're gay." Lestrade said.

"I'm not, well I am, but, umm, that's a whole other conversation. I am not coming out to you with my sexual orientation. Do you know what intersex means? I assume you do, Molly, being a pathologist and all."

You could see the moment Molly put the pieces together in her head. Her eyes went wide for a moment, but then she quickly schooled her features to remain neutral.

Lestrade spoke, "I've heard of it. I don't know what it means though."

"It means that an individual, whether they identify as male, female, or something else, was born with different sexual characteristics. This means that a baby girl could be born with a testes as well as her ovaries, and the opposite can be said for boys."

"So... you have an ovary?" Lestrade looked very surprised.

"Yes. Two, in fact. Intersex people can also have something called an ovotestis, which is an organ with both ovarian and testicular tissue. That is the most common form. I have an extremely rare case of true hermaphroditism, I have a complete female reproductive system, and a partial male one."

"Now that's surprising, but I still think of you the same way, mate. Molly?" Lestrade said.

Molly had been very quiet throughout all of this. "Oh, yes, I think about you the same way too."

"Hang on, that doesn't explain all the injections and the tube that went down your nose. What was that all about?"

"Now this is the thing that is going to be a bit shocking. Mary, John, could you start please?"

"Of course, love." Mary said. "I found out a while ago that I cannot have children."

"I'm so sorry, Mary." Molly sympathised. She held Mary's hand in her own.

"It's okay. John and I were trying to have children, so when we found out that I couldn't, we started looking into other options."

John took over. "We came back to Baker Street and vented about it to Sherlock. Then he said, 'I'll carry your baby for you.' Needless to say, at first I thought he was mocking our fertility situation and I was very angry. But then he explained."

Sherlock finished the story. "I was told when I was a teenager that I can't father children. It was also said to me that I might be able to, well, mother them. Long story short, I am three months pregnant as a surrogate and egg donor for John and Mary."

Silence followed. Then Sherlock shouted, "For the love of god say something!"

"Your pregnant?" Molly asked for confirmation, voice quiet.

"Yes. The baby is about the size of a plumb."

"Congratulations! That's amazing news" Lestrade said. He was taking it way better than Molly for some reason.

"When is the child due?" Molly spoke.

"Mid-February next year."

"You're not pulling my leg, are you?" Greg accused.

"No. Look, I'll show you." Sherlock stood up and took off his jacket. He turned to the side so they could see the slight bump.

"This is insane." Greg said.

"You'll get used to it. Sherlock had to have a tube because he got HG, which is really bad morning sickness. It's eased up now, thank god." John smiled at the detective as he sat down.

"Do you mind if I finish eating? I'm starving." Sherlock was already reaching for the plate of chicken.

* * *

_Three hours later_

Molly and Greg had just left. John was washing up, Mary had left early, and Sherlock was lying on the sofa with his hand resting on his bump.

"Why didn't Molly take it as well as Lestrade?" Sherlock asked John.

The doctor came over and thought about how he should put it. "Because she's been in love with you for years, Sherlock. She completely hated herself for it because she knew that you would never go out with her."

"I know. I'm sorry that I have been rude to her in the past, or inconsiderate of her feelings. I just didn't know how to act."

"That's fine. I think she knew that. If you don't mind me asking, and if you're uncomfortable with it then you don't have to answer, but have you ever actually been in a relationship?" John had been wanting to ask that question for years.

"Yes. Once. I was at Cambridge university at the time. It was a man called Victor Trevor. Overall he was a nice person. He told me he loved me, I lied and told him I loved him too. After four months of dating we were going to have sex. We were kissing, and I don't know why but I just couldn't tell him that I wasn't completely male down there. He put his hand down my trousers, and then he stopped moving."

"You don't have to say anything else, Sherlock. I'm sorry I asked." John spoke, feeling awful.

"No, it's okay. I want to finish the story. So, he had just found about my abnormalities, and he wasn't happy to say the least. He put on the clothes he had taken off as fast as he could. He shouted at me, calling me freak, faggot, tranny, any other offensive name you can think of. He told me I had wasted his time, and that he was going to tell everyone in our university class about me being a hermaphroditic whore. Then he beat me up.

"When he left I called Mycroft and told him what had happened. He was twenty-nine, and very protective of me. He caught Trevor on the side of the road going back to his student accommodation, and kidnapped him. He then threatened him with blackmail files he had kept for this very reason. I never heard or saw him again."

"You are not a freak. You hear me? You are not a freak or a faggot and certainly not a whore."

"Thank you. I have had sex, though. I didn't particularly want the sex, but the man gave me 150g of cocaine. That would cost about four and a half to five and a half thousand pounds. I was desperate, and he said he had a 'fetish' for 'trannies'. I was too high to bother to correct him, so I agreed to go back to his place.

"I don't remember much from that day, but I distinctly remember how dark and dingy this man's flat was. It smelled like damp and drugs and sex. He took me into his bedroom, and had sex with me. Even now I still remember his body above me. He smelled like cocaine and weed. He had a scar from a knife wound above and to the left of his navel. His teeth were rotten.

"At the time however I didn't feel anything, no pain, nothing. I felt calm and free, like I was on top of the world. The grossness of the act I was performing didn't register with me.

"It was a different story when I came back down from the high though. I was... injured, to put it mildly. I had passed out at some point in the dealer's house, and the dealer had beaten me with a belt. I was bleeding from places I don't care to mention. Mycroft had thankfully tracked me down and taken me straight to hospital after the dealer kicked me out onto the streets. I don't remember anything about the hospital, only waking up at Mycroft's a week later.

"He then sent me to drug rehab for the first time. I have gone back there four times since, and I vow to never go back again."

John wished he never knew all of this. "You are a rape victim." he said, tone even.

"Not really, I consented. He paid me what he promised. Basically just prostitution." Sherlock looked plain sad and ashamed.

"That man knew you were under the influence, and he exploited your addiction. That was completely unethical, and not to mention illegal."

"That's what Mycroft said. He made the man disappear." Sherlock's voice was scarily void of any emotion. He had both his arms wrapped around his belly, like he was protecting the unborn child.

"Good. I would have gone out and killed him otherwise." John wasn't lying. He had killed for Sherlock before, and he would do it again, as many times as needed.

"I would never want baby Watson to go through any of this. The gender dysphoria and the name calling can be horrific, especially when you are young. That's why I made Dr Clarke have a geneticist check each of the embryos put inside of me. All of them were carriers of the intersex gene, but none will be affected."

John didn't know what to say to that. He had been wondering about the possibility of baby Watson being intersex, but he had just pushed the thought to the back of his mind. "Thank you. And I don't mean any disrespect by saying that, I just don't want them to go through what you've gone through."

"I know. I thought you would be uncomfortable asking me, so I did it myself. We should be able to find out the gender in six weeks, if you want." Sherlock was kind of dreading the possibility of a gender reveal.

"Yes, me and Mary want to find out. Then we can start buying more gender-specific clothes."

"You should buy clothes with different gender-targets. She might grow up as a Tom-boy."

"I see you're still set on the baby being a girl." John said.

"I bet you one hundred quid on it." Sherlock said, tapping the bump.

"Not a chance. Do you already know or something?"

"Nope. All I know is that out of the embryos that were put in two were of one gender and one was of the other. I don't know if it was two girls and one boy or vice-versa. But I still think it's going to be a girl."

"Okay then. Look, it's getting late Sherlock, I should probably just head back home." John stood up.

"Bye bye. Sorry, but I don't quite feel like standing up, is that okay?"

John chuckled. "That's fine. I'll see you soon. Bye."

* * *

**A/N: Reviews and favourites are always appreciated! You can find my profile on ao3 at **/users/Sherlockian_Queen/pseuds/Sherlockian_Queen


	15. Sarah Hobbs, part 1

_16 weeks/four months pregnant_

_Thursday, 10th of September  
_

"I think we should ask for an interview soon." Sherlock said. He and John sat at Speedies because Sherlock had a craving for pastries.

"Okay." John put down his croissant. "Which media company?"

"I prefer the BBC. I have the email address of a reporter there, her name's Sarah Hobbs. She told me she can organise interviews, and that the BBC would love to interview us. She said they would pay for any interview, from radio to television. She's actually not a complete imbecile like the rest of the people who have chosen to go down a path of journaling."

"Be kind, Sherlock. So, what are you going to ask for?"

"Television. It will convince more people that I am telling the truth. If I just said it over the radio, then people could say I am making it up, or worse, mocking people. If I do it over the TV, I can wear clothes that accentuates the bump."

"I'm sorry, bump?" John looked shocked.

"Yes, bump. I started properly showing about a week ago, but I have been able to see something there for about a month. Why? I told you all of this three days ago." Sherlock signalled to the barista to get him the bill.

"I was visiting Harry three days ago! I had no idea you were showing!"

"Oh. I'm so sorry, I must have forgotten you were gone. Let's go upstairs now, I'll show you." Sherlock put his card into the reader when the barista came back.

"I've payed. Let's go." Sherlock stood up, wrapping his coat around his middle. They walked out of the shop and John unlocked the door to their flat.

The detective stepped in without thanking John and trotted up the stairs. When they were both in the flat Sherlock took off his Belstaff and hanged it up on the hanger.

"Turn to the side, I want to see." John instructed. Sherlock turned himself so he was perpendicular to his friend. John let out a little gasp.

"Oh my god. That's my baby. I can see where my baby is." John's voice was quiet. He stepped forwards until he was right in front of Sherlock, looking down at the evidence that his child was growing.

"She's going to hit a growth spurt soon. I sure can't wait for that." Sherlock said sarcastically.

John ignored him. Instead, he put his hand on Sherlock's lower belly, feeling the bump for himself.

It felt rather intimate to Sherlock, John's hand on the baby. No-one except himself and Dr Clarke had touched there. It was something that couples do all the time, in fact it would be unusual for the partner not to touch the baby bump that housed their offspring. But no matter how much Sherlock wished it were different, his and John's relationship remained platonic.

"John?"

"I'm going to be a dad." John looked up at Sherlock, eyes wet and red.

"Yes, you are."

John and Sherlock stood together in the flat in silence for a minute, John's hand still on the baby. "I think it's only just hit me. In five months I'm going to have a little person that I have to look after. They'll rely on me for everything. I'm going to get called dad."

"You're going to be an amazing father, John. I promise you that."

John was quietly crying now. "You're not upset, are you?" Sherlock asked.

John huffed out a small laugh. "No. God, no. I'm the happiest I have been in a very long time. I just can't believe it. I'm a forty year old man, and my wife is thirty-eight. I was excited when we first started trying for a baby, but then as the months wore on I sort of just thought that it was never going to happen. When Mary got her diagnosis, I thought that I knew for sure. But then ten months ago, you offered us the most amazing thing anyone could ever give.

"And you're not even charging us! If we used another surrogate and egg donor then the cost could get up to sixty thousand pounds, and that's assuming it worked the first time 'round. If you hadn't offered, the only chance we would have at having a child would be through adoption. And I'm not even going to pretend that we would get approved for that."

They stood there in silence, sharing the same breath, until John seemed to realise how close he was standing to Sherlock. He abruptly took a step backwards, and took his hand off Sherlock's belly.

"Only five more months to go, and then you'll have little Watson and I'll have the ability to sleep again." Sherlock joked.

"Yeah. Oh god, Mary and I need to start shopping for baby things. We need so much stuff! When we find out the gender in about three weeks it will be easier to shop for clothes and gender-specific things, but at least we can stock up on nappies and dummies."

"What do you think the baby's going to be?"

"I don't know. It's always a fifty-fifty chance, and I will love either. Do you want to do the interview before or after we find out?"

"Before. I'll start typing the email up now. Could you make me a cup of tea?" Sherlock stepped away from John and towards the sofa. He sat down, picked up his laptop, and flipped open the lid, casting a blue-white glow on the sharp bones of his face.

He started writing, and barely even noticed John putting the mug on the table in front of him. After ten minutes he finally finished a version he was happy with. It read as follows:

_Dear Ms Hobbs,_

_If the offer still stands, I would be willing to do a televised interview at some point within the next month. John, Mary, and I have something important that we have got to tell the world. I do not think it would be wise to disclose the information in an email, but I would be happy to speak with you in person soon._

_Please contact me via my phone or email, preferably within the next week, to tell me whether or not you are interested._

_07634 194782_

_sherlockholmes _

_Kind regards,_  
_W. Sherlock S. Holmes_

"John, I finished. Read it." Sherlock passed his computer over to his friend.

John read it quickly, then passed it back. "That's fine. Send it."

"You would be okay with going on telly with me, wouldn't you?" Sherlock hadn't thought about John's opinion on the matter until that moment.

"Of course. I spoke with Mary, she's fine with it too. And anyway, I would never let you do that alone. We don't need you accidentally offending the entire nation." John smiled.

"That was one time! And I won't be offending anyone. If I do though, feel free to subtly kick me in the shins."

"I'll bare that in mind."

Sherlock clicked his mouse over send. "It's sent. If what I know about how much the media wants an interview with me is correct then I wouldn't be surprised if I get a reply by the end of the day."

"Do you mind if I hang around here for a while? I've got nowhere to be and if I go back to my place I'll just have to tidy up." John said.

"Of course, John. You are always welcome here. If you weren't I would have taken back the key." Sherlock picked up his book and curled up on the end of the sofa.

John let himself watch him for a minute. It was one of those rare days, sunny and not too cold, in the English September. A ray of light fell through the window and danced on Sherlock's ivory-white skin. One of his hands rested over his stomach, an action John guessed was subconscious. The image looked perfect, except for the book, which was titled 'A history of post-mortems in the British Isles'.

"Why are you staring?" Sherlock asked without turning his head away from his book.

John felt embarrassed for being caught. "You're glowing, Sherlock."

"If you mean that my body's overall blood flow has increased rapidly in the last week or so along with my skin getting oilier, therefore making my skin look brighter, then yes, I do believe that I am glowing. If you mean that you are seeing myself quite literally glowing, -Baskerville style, if you will-, then I suggest booking an appointment with either a psychiatrist or a neurologist. Both would be preferable."

"I'm just trying to be nice. No need to be a smart-arse." Sherlock smiled.

"What do you think I shall be doing when I am old?"

"How old?"

"Seventy, maybe."

"I don't know. You probably wont be running around after criminals, your joints won't be up to it. I thought you said you wanted to retire to Sussex to keep bees?"

"I do, but I fear I shall be lonely."

"I didn't realise you got lonely."

"More than you can imagine, John. I was really rather depressed before you came along. The only people I had in my life were my brother, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. And I was never very good friends with any of them. Why do you think I still talk to you when you're away, if I'm not just lonely?"

John hadn't thought of Sherlock craving company before. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. Why don't you try and meet someone? A romantic partner, I mean."

"John, you are the only person who has succeeded in living with me for a period of more than two weeks, excluding my parents and Mycroft. The odds of finding someone willing to live with me are slim, and that is without even factoring in the romantic elements. I don't know how to do romance. And anyway, most people around my age will have some level of disgust towards my body."

John couldn't stand the thinly disguised self-hatred Sherlock was showing. It made his skin crawl to hear it. "Some of that is true, I agree. But so much of it isn't. Trust me Sherlock, there are plenty of people out there who would fall in love with you, despite the literal bones in your closet." they both chuckled. "I reckon that when you are seventy and have a kingdom of bees to take care of, there will be a Mr or Mrs Holmes watching and laughing at you whilst you get stung."

"Who, John? Who? The only people who would even consider living with me are people with a strong stomach and a slightly faulty moral compass."

"Ta, Sherlock. If you weren't carrying my baby I'd box your ears for that. And hey, if someone loves you enough then they won't mind the blood and gore and three o'clock violin concertos. That's how love works."

"Romantic love does sound pleasing, I admit. I would like to try it someday."

"After baby's born I'll set you up if you like." John said. He regretted it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. How would he survive watching Sherlock with someone else. Shit, he was the worst husband ever.

"Perhaps. Right now I need to sleep again. I swear, I have to sleep for at least twelve hours a day or I'll get the worst head ache ever. Here's my laptop, if the journalist emails back then wake me. Actually don't, I'll hit you."

"Sure thing. Try to start sleeping on your side now, alright?"

"Already?"

"Better to be safe than sorry. And this is quite a high-risk pregnancy. Go get some rest, I'll wake you at six if you're not already up, otherwise you won't sleep tonight."

"Awww, so sweet of you." Sherlock said sarcastically. "Thanks, John."

"You're welcome, Sherlock."


	16. Sarah Hobbs, part 2

_16 weeks/four months pregnant_

_Thursday, 10th of September  
_

_Later that day_

"Sherlock, wake up." John shook Sherlock's shoulder gently. The man was laying on his side like the doctor had instructed.

"Nugghhhh." was Sherlock's elegant reply. He turned his face into the pillow like he was trying to disappear.

"Ms Hobbs wrote back, she wants to set up a date and time for us to see her in person."

Sherlock rubbed his eyes reluctantly and squinted at John. "Okay, I'll get up."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and used John's shoulder to help him up. They walked back into the lounge, the dying sunlight casting shadows across the room.

Sherlock picked up his laptop and skimmed his eyes over the returned email.

_Dear Mr Holmes,_

_We would be delighted to do an interview with you. If you email me a time, place, and date, then I will meet with you and discus it beforehand. I have checked with my supervisor and the BBC will be willing to pay you £45,000 for a live televised interview._

_Kind regards,_  
_Sarah Hobbs_

"Are you going to except the money?" John asked.

"Usually I would say no, but you can put it towards the new baby things. I'm going to email her back."

Sherlock got started on the next email. It read,

_Dear Ms Hobbs,_

_How does tomorrow at 221B Baker Street sound? I will be at home all day, so pick a time and I will see you then._

_Sherlock Holmes_

He pressed send.

"John, can you order Chinese and Indian food?"

"What, both?"

"Yes. My usual orders, please."

"Whatever you say, you madman." John took out his phone and called both businesses in turn.

Sherlock thought about what he was going to say during the interview. He wanted to raise awareness of the troubles intersex people go through, and also educate people on what it means exactly when someone is intersex. Sherlock felt nervous, not for the actual interview, but for what would surely come afterwards.

It was an unavoidable fact that he would receive hate and discrimination for his condition. So would John and Mary, for that matter. Coming out as gay or bisexual was difficult enough for celebrities, let alone as intersex.

Sherlock also realised that the baby might grow up to be bullied about this. The vast majority of children lack the capability to understand things like gender dysphoria and intersexuality. And when children don't understand things about other people, they bully them.

"The food will be here soon. Do you want to go boil some eyeballs until then?" John joked.

"No, I don't feel like it. Plus, I got rid of most of the things you would deem disgusting in the kitchen."

"Sherlock, we haven't talked about this yet, but I think we should start. The baby won't stay inside of you forever, so we need a birthing plan. Is there a particular way you would feel comfortable with? "

Sherlock hadn't thought about that yet. "I don't know what to do. What do you and Mary want? You are the parents after all." oh, how it pained Sherlock to say that.

"We want whatever you feel comfortable with."

"Could you tell me my options?"

"Of course. There are lot's of different factors, so I'll just list some elements you should consider. There's pain relief, which can be an epidural, gas and air, or even just meditation. You can have a water birth, which many women say can help ease some of the pain. There's the choice between at a hospital or at home. And, if you don't want any natural births, then you can always get a cesarean. That'll leave you with a scar though."

Sherlock pondered what to do. He decided that if he had a natural birth, then painkillers would be a must. No way he was getting his body ripped apart without drugs to ease the way. As to the other aspects, he couldn't decide.

"I don't want a c-section, and I want some sort of painkillers to help me. I think we should wait to decide on home or hospital nearer the time. Nine-months pregnant me will probably have some strong opinions on it."

"Okay then. And Sherlock, I hate to even ask this, but if god forbid there is an emergency, like you get yourself into another coma or something, then what do you want me to do? Before the baby we knew each other's minds on how we would want to live our lives if we couldn't decide for ourselves. You told me that if you were ever in a coma, or had a traumatic brain injury or something, then you wouldn't want to live off machines if the doctors think you're not going to wake up. You know I feel the same way, right?"

"I do know that."

"What would you want me to do if something like that happened before the baby's born?"

"Put baby Watson first. If it's between me and her, choose her. If I am lying in a hospital bed, and I'm never going to wake up, then keep me alive for her. She's just a little baby, she deserves to live more than I do."

John was silent for a moment, taken aback by Sherlock's words. "You deserve to live, Sherlock. You know that, right?"

"I'm a bad person, John. I've killed people without hesitation or guilt."

"So have I. Remember the cabby?"

"Of course. You killed him because you thought I was going to kill myself."

"Was I right in thinking that?"

Sherlock was silent. It spoke volumes.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I think you should start seeing a therapist. I know depression and PTSD and the feeling of worthlessness, and if you find the right therapist then it can really help."

"I already see one, John. Her name's Lillian."

"Oh. That's surprising."

"Why?"

"I thought you would think that therapy is for hippies or something like that."

"Of course I don't think that, John. You go to therapy, and you're a far cry from a hippy. Mycroft wouldn't let me stop even if I wanted to though."

"I don't think he's allowed to do that, Sherlock."

"I have a history of depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and anorexia nervosa. It's in my best interests to stay in therapy."

"That's fair." the doorbell rang.

"Stay there, Sherlock. I'll get it."

John left Sherlock in the sitting room while he collected the food.

* * *

_The next day_

_Sixteen weeks/Four months pregnant_

_Friday, 11th of September_

John opened the door. The woman on the other side looked to be in her mid thirties, with red hair that was artfully done up in a bun. She clearly spent a lot of time on her outfit as well, her clothes were all pristine and matching; the colours all varying shades of blue.

"Are you Sarah Hobbs?" John asked her.

"Yes, I am. And you must be John Watson, pleasure to meet you." She stuck out her hand for John to shake.

"You too. Please, come in. Sherlock and Mary are upstairs." John held the door open for her as she walked in.

They started walking up the stairs. "Thank you so much for doing this. Mr Holmes is known for being one of the most difficult people to get an interview out of."

"Yeah, tell me about it. This story is rather unusual, and pretty much guaranteed to stir some strong opinions. We will explain more in a minute." John pushed open the door that lead into the lounge.

Sherlock greeted her by saying, "Hello Sarah, nice to see you again, etcetera etcetera. I would stand up but I don't want to." the journalist did not have a response to that.

"Take a seat wherever you like." She sat down in John's armchair that had been pulled around so it was opposite the sofa where Sherlock was spread out, still in his pyjamas.

"Thank you all for agreeing to a TV news story. The BBC has been wanting to do this for a very long time. Now, I understand that you have some news that you want getting out."

Mary said, "Yes, we do. It's... well, it's... I don't quite know how to say this-"

"I'm pregnant." Sherlock said.

Ms Hobbs chuckled.

"Ms Hobbs, he really is." John confirmed.

The woman's face showed her desperately trying to work out if they were kidding or not. When she saw all of their serious faces she said, "I'm going to need a bit of a backstory here."

"It all started two years ago when Mary and I decided we wanted to have a baby."


End file.
